


To Dream of Dragons

by Anjelica_Grey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: But Be Patient Grasshopper, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Honest There Will Be, Humor, Language, Like Really a Lot of Sarcasm, Modern Girl in Thedas, Multi, Original Character(s), Psychological Trauma, Romance, Sarcasm, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 98,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelica_Grey/pseuds/Anjelica_Grey
Summary: When Raven's outdoorsy brother Rob drags her out camping, all she expects is to avoid talking about her recent breakup while getting tons of insect bites. But things take a turn for the strange when they end up at the fictional city of Lothering, just before the Fifth Blight.An average gamer nerd, Raven has never been in a fight in her life, and roughing it means being without Wi-Fi...and yet, with her brother's help, she must find a way to survive in the midst of war. The siblings also have to decide how much of their knowledge to share, unsure whether they might accidentally unravel the world.Oh, and they need to figure out how to get home. And...after finding kindred hearts among the turmoil...decide whether they still want to.





	1. A Perfectly Normal Camping Trip

"I cannot believe I let you talk me into this."

Raven grumbled, not for the first time, as her ridiculously fit younger brother bustled about, happily setting up a tent. His smirk indicated he'd heard her, but he continued unabated on his task...having the audacity - the unmitigated gall! - to _whistle_. Her glare could've stripped paint.

Rob glanced her way, and burst out laughing. "Oh, relax; it'll be fun," he teased, ducking to avoid any small objects his sister might throw at him.

"Fun? _Fun_?!?" She pulled herself to her full height (such as it was), blue eyes flashing in mock outrage. "Do you know what I just had to do? Do you??"

"You had to pee in the bushes," Rob said mildly.

"I had to _pee_ in the _bushes_!!" she continued, pointedly ignoring him. "Do you understand exactly how gross that is? No, of course you don't, because you're male. Let me tell you, it is gross. Awkward, drippy, and gross. Something I had to endure because we have, apparently, traveled beyond the boundary of all known maps and civilized plumbing systems." Rob's hand over his mouth did not disguise his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter; she was unimpressed. "Which returns me to the original point, namely, how in all the thrice-damned levels of all the hells did I let you talk me into this?"

"Ooh, you really must be pissed; you're busting out the nerd cursing." Rob's blue eyes, the match to his sister's, twinkled with laughter as he raised his hands in surrender before she found another makeshift missile to fling at his head. "Okay, okay," he chuckled. "How about, you agreed to the horrific ordeal of, gasp, _camping_ , because you recognized the inevitable triumph of my boundless charm and wit?" She snorted. "No? Hmm...you gave in to the pleading of your most favoritest baby brother who was simply dying to spend time with his wonderful and loving big sister?"

"You're my only brother," she said dryly.

He grinned, coming to sit beside her on the grass, bumping their shoulders together. "Still your favorite, then; my point stands." Raven relented, rolling her eyes. "See? Fun." His broad smile dimmed, grew gentler. "The fact that you've barely been out of your apartment in the three months since you've moved back here is just a coincidence." He glanced at her sideways, waiting for her to sigh and change the subject, as usual.

She sighed, idly twisting the end of her long, dark ponytail. "Rob, I..."

He nudged her shoulder again until she stopped trying to read the history of her relationship failures in the darkening sky. "Listen, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want." He hugged her gently. "If talking will help, I got you. If not, I still got you. You know that."

Her smile was sad. "Yeah, I know. Favoritest baby brother, so on, so forth, et cetera."

"Damn straight," he said with a grin, and turned back to arranging their campsite. He'd finished building the campfire and was unpacking cooking supplies when he almost missed her quiet words.

"He sent me a message, you know."

Rob dropped the cast iron skillet in his hands and turned, his tone reflecting how quickly his protective brother circuits flared to life. "That asshole has been trying to contact you? I mean it, Rae; I can still drive up there and..."

She waved him off with a half-hearted grin. "Don't tempt me. And no, he hasn't tried to talk to me since...well, _since_. I meant..." Her gaze burrowed into the earth, as if she'd crawl in after it. "You know how I met him playing that online game, with the elves and dwarves and stuff, the one you always teased me about being hooked on...said I needed to get a life?"

Rob nodded. "I didn't mean anything by it; you know that."

She laughed. "Yes you did, but it's fine. If we ever stopped picking on each other, everybody who knows us would call an ambulance."

"Valid," he smirked.

The brief flash of humor faded from her eyes again. "So yeah...he and I both played it. And that last time I came home to visit...we'd had, well, I can't call it an argument, because he never really cared enough to bother arguing, but he said he was having doubts. About us. It was the first time he'd ever said anything like that, though, and we talked, and I thought..." Her mirthless laugh was bitter. "I thought it was okay."

"But..." Rob prompted gently as he sat back down beside her.

With a deep breath, Raven pulled off her glasses and tiredly scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands, pretending there were no traitorous drops of moisture behind her eyelids. "But...then I drove down here to visit not long after. And I logged onto the game one night, and he sent me a private message. Said he'd been thinking about it, and it was probably best if I didn't come back."

The silence dragged out as Rob groped for words. "You mean he...he broke up with you...like _that_?!?"

She blinked fiercely, and gave him a watery smile. "Yeah. Pretty great, huh? You move ten hours away from everybody you've ever known, live with somebody for almost two years, and the end result is them thinking, 'Gee, I _could_ break up via text, but that just isn't quite tacky enough.'"

A small muscle ticked in Rob's jaw, giving away his struggle to clamp down on his temper. What he probably _wanted_ to say was something like, "Hang tight here for about two days; I'll be right back after I rip the body parts off the asshole that hurt my sister." Instead, he took a deep breath and settled for, "Jesus, Rae...I'm sorry. What a dick."

"Yeah," she replied, after a false start and clearing her throat. "Yeah, that pretty much covers it." His arm circled her shoulders, and she let her head fall against his cheek, heavy with the immeasurable weight of regret. He rocked her gently. They both pretended to be unaware of the growing dampness on the shoulder of his shirt, where her silent tears gathered.

"You know," he said hesitantly, "it _is_ okay for you to cry if you need to."

"No," she growled, surprising him with her vehemence, her voice angry and thick with unwanted emotion. At his slight flinch, she swallowed and tried again. "No, he doesn't deserve any more tears. I've wasted enough."

They quietly watched the campfire flames for a long moment, and she added, "I think the worst part is that I _knew_. I knew from the beginning it was a bad idea, that it would never work. But he was so sure, so sweet about wanting to be with me, and it felt so good to be wanted." Her teeth ground together as she fought to regain control. "God. That's what really gets me; I should've known better. I am such an idiot."

"Don't say that."

"Why not? It's true. You'd think I'd have learned by now that I am just not the kind of girl who draws the eye of the handsome prince and lives happily ever after. It's stupid to think otherwise." He winced at the bleakness in her voice, and opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. "You're my brother and I love you, and I know you want to help, but please let's skip the part where you try to convince me of what a prize I am, that I just haven't found someone worthy, or whatever sweet but false things you're about to say. I just don't have the energy. Okay?"

Rob sighed. "Okay." He paused, then added, "For now."

"That's fair." With effort, she stuffed her raw feelings back into the mental box where she usually kept them sealed, and took a steadying breath. "So. Now that I've experienced the luxurious plumbing facilities of this vacation spot, do we move on to the fine dining? I admit I'm curious to see if the military improved your cooking skills, since the last time I checked, you couldn't boil water without burning it."

She knew Rob wanted to protest her putting all the walls back up, when it was obvious she wasn't okay. But of all the traits the siblings shared, the biggest one was stubbornness. If she didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't, and pressuring her would just make it that much longer before she was willing to talk again. So instead, he answered, "Oh, mademoiselle, I am zee gourmet now, you 'ave no idea. Thees meal, she eez going to be très magnifique!"

She giggled tiredly. "I'll be the judge of that. If you have to _tell_ people your food is gourmet, it's probably not gourmet."

"You wound me," he replied, with a melodramatic hand to his forehead.

They both laughed. For now, it was enough. And as the evening went on, she realized a surprisingly large part of her was enjoying this, the escape from the mess she'd made of her life. She found herself wishing she could just stay out here, in the peaceful forest, in the company of one of the very few people in the world she implicitly trusted.

But of course, she couldn't tell her brother she was enjoying this nature nonsense; the smugness level would be unbearable.

________________________________________

Raven woke to the sound of deafening bird noises. It seemed unnecessarily early. She was rarely a late sleeper, but for some reason the light coming through her closed eyelids felt strange, until she opened her eyes and saw the dull greenish-grey material of the tent over her head. "Right," she thought. "Trapped in the trackless wilds with my brother and eighty thousand mosquitoes. Fabulous." At least Rob had decent camping gear, so she woke up feeling warm, cozy, and fairly rested...and only slightly like she'd slept on a body length relief map of the Himalayas. She supposed it could've been worse.

And then she realized she needed to get up and use the non-existent restroom, and presto, it was worse.

The sleeping bag on the opposite side of the tent showed movement in response to her quiet but disgusted sigh, and Rob's head emerged from the depths to regard her with altogether too much enthusiasm and amusement to be borne at this early of an hour. "Good morning, my dearest sister! I can tell you're already thrilled to begin another day in the great outdoors!" His attempt to suppress his laughter failed utterly when her pillow hit him in the face.

With her grouchiness somewhat worn down by her brother's good humor, Raven laughed ruefully as she pulled a jacket over her pajamas and slipped on her shoes. "Just you wait, Robin Joseph Richards. Laugh it up now, but in revenge for all this, I'm going to make you spend a weekend on one of my hobbies. I hope your ridiculously hearty constitution can withstand a three-day LAN party, playing whatever games I deem appropriate, sleeping as little as possible, and subsisting solely on Mountain Dew and Cheetos."

He mock-glared at her use of his full name, which she knew very well that he hated. "Sounds rough," he drawled. "Besides, I play Call of Duty with some of the guys on base now and then; does that count?"

Her head shake was heavy with faux-sorrow. " _Call of Duty_? You're one of _those_? What's next, _Madden_?? I'm sorry; I don't think we can be friends anymore."

"Oh, what; I suppose it would be better if I stuck to that ancient Aliens vs. Predator game we used to play? Or Unreal Tournament?"

She shot him a grin full of sass. "You only quit playing those because I was a better sniper than you."

"True story," he laughed. "Don't tell that to any of the guys in my unit though; I'll never live it down."

"My ability to maintain secrecy depends on how much hiking you force me to endure this weekend." Chuckling, she unzipped the tent flap and headed out to find an opportune tree to defile.

And stopped.

And blinked.

"Um. Rob?"

"Yeah?"

"You should, ah...you should look at this."

Rob frowned at the odd tone in his sister's voice, and leaned over to poke his head out of the tent flap. Anyone who knew the siblings would've sworn they were physically incapable of maintaining a silence as long as the one that followed.

Finally, Raven said, "At first I thought it was weird that I didn't see the trail we hiked in on...but these don't even look like the same trees."

"No. They do not. Which is...not possible."

"Normally I'd agree, except here we are."

Rob stepped out of the small tent to regard the vegetation that _should've_ been trampled down around the missing trail, while Raven looked around the clearing, trying to compare it to the image in her head like a "Spot the Differences" puzzle in a child's coloring book. "I remember for sure that there was a big tree over that way and just a few yards out," she said, indicating with a nod of her head, "since it marked the little girls' room...lovely decor, but the nature motif was rather overdone, I thought. But, yeah, anyway...I don't see it now..."

"Do you remember what kind of tree it was?" he asked absently.

She gave him a withering look. "Why yes, of course. With my extensive knowledge in botany and wilderness survival, I identified it as a Great North American Fir-Maple Oak, sub-genus how-the-hell-would-I-know."

"A simple no would've sufficed."

"Yeah, well, going to sleep in the middle of nowhere and waking up in a different-but-equally remote bit of nowhere doesn't do wonders for my disposition."

He sighed rubbing his forehead in annoyance. "It can't _be_ a different spot; that doesn't make any sense. The only thing I can think of is that it was a little dark when we made camp, so...maybe we somehow wandered further from the trail than we thought...?"

Raven's brow wrinkled in frustration as she found a new bathroom spot; weirdness aside, some things had to be taken care of. " _That_ doesn't make any sense either," she called. "You know your stuff better than that, and even _I_ am sure we weren't that far from the path. And trees don't just...move."

"No shit, Sherlock. You got any better explanations?"

She was so preoccupied she forgot to complain about the lack of plumbing, a minor miracle in itself. "Well...no. I mean...maybe we ate something yesterday that made us sick, messed with our perceptions? Or...or maybe there is some kind of plant here that causes hallucinations or something? I don't know. Woodland pathfinding isn't exactly my area of expertise." She finished her task, looking out at the unsettling forest, and her eye caught on a nearby bit of greenery; despite her sarcastic remarks about field identification, something about the knee-high plant and its delicate three-pointed leaves tickled her memory, but she couldn't place why. _With my luck, it's probably poison ivy_ , she thought, shaking her head and heading back into the camp.

Rob was critically surveying the campsite. "Well, despite the...whatever happened...all our stuff seems okay. Playing the what-if game doesn't get us anywhere. I'm thinking we pack everything up and head back north until we pick up the trail...or if we somehow miss that, eventually the highway we drove in on."

"I guess," Raven shrugged. "I mean, it's all the same to me regardless...a big green insect haven with no air conditioning."

"Your positive attitude continues to astound me," said Rob.

"Hey, I'm there for you like that," she laughed.  
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for checking out my work! I've written other types of fiction before, but this is my first entry into the Dragon Age fanfic world. I did another playthrough recently, and realized I loved Dragon Age (...and Alistair...and Cullen...*coughblush*) too much to just end there. Looking forward to hearing what everyone thinks; it turns out I'm shamelessly motivated by kudos, bookmarks, and comments. :D


	2. Not in Kansas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The displaced siblings search for familiar landmarks...and eventually find the unlikeliest one imaginable, right before they meet the unlikeliest person possible. It's a "never tell me the odds" sort of day.

Within a surprisingly short amount of time, they packed up and set out. They were too far afield to get cell reception for GPS purposes, so Rob was using a compass to keep them headed north. Despite that, though, a few hours passed -- already longer than they'd hiked the previous day -- and there was still no sign of a trail. Rob's eyebrows drew together more fiercely with every step.

And then, they stumbled upon the road.

. . . well, _a_ road, anyway. He was expecting the well-maintained two-lane highway they'd taken to reach the park. This road seemed more like a wide hiking trail with delusions of grandeur. Rob frowned and pulled out their map, while Raven leapt at the excuse to park her butt in the grass, taking a long gulp of water before pulling off her hiking boots and socks. She sighed with pleasure as the breeze cooled her wiggling toes. At Rob's amused glance, she said," What? Socks are evil cotton foot prisons." He rolled his eyes and went back to studying the map without comment.

"So... any idea where we are yet, Dora the Explorer?"

"Ha. You're hilarious. And no. there shouldn't _be_ any other road between our camp and the highway. This doesn't make any damn _sense_!" he growled, running his hand over his dark, close-cropped hair.

"Well, in fairness, calling this stretch of rutted dirt a road is remarkably generous. Maybe the mapmakers didn't feel it was worthy of recognition?"

"They sucked at their job, then; this map is supposed to show every road, riding trail, and hiking path in the entire park." He sighed, sitting down beside her and pulling out his own water bottle. "Well, if nothing else, it does lead north, more or less, and it'll be easier than trying to force our way through the brush. How are you holding up?" Rob looked his sister over critically, his slightly too-casual tone belying his concern.

"I'm good. I mean, I've walked more in the last two days than I usually do in a month, and my feet are deep in conference about which vile curses they want to hurl upon you. And I'm still in the dreaded outdoors instead of inside a properly civilized building..." She grinned impishly. "But otherwise, you know, fine."

"Well, if you still have the energy to complain, you must be okay." His smirk faded into a serious, earnest expression. "Seriously though, don't worry, Rae. Whatever bizarre shit is going on here, I'll get us out, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you."

His determination was renewed when she smiled back with complete trust. "I know. I wasn't worried." She paused, then continued dramatically, "But I suppose that means it's time to put my socks back on. Alas."

________________________________________

The weirdness level escalated when their little baby road merged into a respected ancestor road, the kind that would inspire the whole Road family to gather round the fireplace and tell stories of their proud heritage. Huge blocks of gray stone made up the bulk of the lane, bordered by smaller squares in a geometric pattern. Massive stone arches soared thirty or forty feet overhead, and looked like they belonged in a medieval cathedral. Here and there, bits of the stonework had crumbled with age.

Rob hid his expression from his sister, but privately, he was starting to freak out. Lazy mapmakers or not, there was absolutely no way a road like _this_ could’ve been hiding in the national park where they’d camped. They’d have heard of it. It would’ve been marketed as a tourist attraction. There would’ve been barricades around it to keep people from damaging the stone. There’d be a souvenir hut selling overpriced picture postcards. Nerdy parents would be enthusiastically explaining to bored kids about how some eccentric turn-of-the-century millionaire was inspired by Roman aqueducts to build a giant stone highway in the middle of absolutely fucking nowhere.

The lack of this proved exactly one thing: they were not in the park. And he had no idea where they were.

Rubbing his forehead irritably, Rob glanced at Raven. She was examining the nearest stone archway with a frown of concentration. “I feel like I’ve seen this before…like a picture of it, or a video or something. It seems familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“It’s not ringing any bells for me,” he confessed. “But it’s still heading more or less north, so our best bet is to keep following it. We’re not in danger of running out of supplies, and if we keep heading the same way, we should run into civilization eventually.” He tried to infuse his voice with a confidence he didn’t feel.

_“Eventually_ is a pretty long time,” Raven worried, but then took a deep breath and fixed him with a stern look. “At this rate, all the guys you know are _definitely_ hearing that I’m a better sniper than you.”

He exhaled with a chuckle, feeling his tension fade slightly. “Damn,” he said sorrowfully, “that’s it; my reputation’s ruined.” Laughing, they stepped out onto the stone highway and continued into the unknown.

________________________________________

They strolled down the stone thoroughfare for another hour or two, and finally began to see occasional hints of farm fields to the northwest. Rob decided to stick to the road a while longer in hopes of finding civilization, but it did cheer them both, knowing they could always backtrack and look for farmhouses if needed.

And then, finally, they came to a town.

A ramp descended from one side of the road, the ordered uniformity of the stonework meeting the chaos of a mossy cobbled path. Crumbling pillars indicated the road’s builders had made some sort of structure here once, but not enough remained to tell what it had been. Beyond it though, past a low stone wall, were buildings and people.

And everything looked…wrong, somehow.

The townsfolk bustled around with purpose. They seemed rather more athletic than the average populace, but their clothing was what really stood out; they all wore dresses or long shirts over trousers, in dull shades of yellow, rust, and brown. The building walls were covered in plaster or stucco rather than siding, which wasn’t that outlandish in itself. But the nearby roofs were made of rough planks covered irregularly by wooden shingles. And some in the distance seemed to be made of…straw? It felt like a cautionary exhibit of the poor construction choices of the Three Little Pigs, pre-Big Bad Wolf era.

The cobblestone path continued into town, but it didn’t seem wide enough for cars, and he didn’t see any. There were no power lines or streetlights, but an old-fashioned mill wheel turned slowly in the current of the small river that ran through town. A large building with stained glass windows gave the impression of a church, but the spiky symbol extending from its roof – a spiky compass rose, or maybe a stylized sun? – matched no religion he knew.

His best guess was that they’d somehow stumbled on a backwoods haven of some little-known ascetic sect that shunned technology. Combined with the disappearing trail and mysterious highway, the odd village was pretty much red-lining his weird-o-meter, and he figured things couldn’t get much stranger.

But then he glanced over at Raven, and saw that all the color had drained from her face. “No, that’s crazy,” she breathed. “It can’t be …”

“It can’t be what?” he asked sharply.

“Lothering. The village is called Lothering.”

“You…you know this place?” he gaped. “Where are we? How do we get home from here?”

A mirthless bark of laughter escaped her. “We don’t.”

Rob frowned, trying to contain his annoyance. “We _don’t?_ What do you mean, _we don’t?!?”_

“We don’t get _anywhere_ from here. We can’t even be _here_ in the first place.”

Without tearing her eyes off the strange church icon, she whispered, “This place isn’t _real.”_

________________________________________

All his life, Rob had watched his big sister dive headfirst into her hobbies. Most of her favorite activities, from reading fantasy novels, to playing online games and Dungeons & Dragons, were stereotypically nerdy, but she never seemed to let that dampen her enjoyment. He admired that, and defended her against anyone who felt otherwise. Of course, this was the first time she’d claimed they were inside some alternate virtual reality. It did somewhat stretch his acceptance.

They’d pulled back a few hundred yards from the entrance to Crazytown, to a small clearing near the road. Rob watched his sister with concern. After her outlandish announcement that they’d landed in a video game, Raven had fallen into anxious silence. Her eyes flicked back and forth, speed-reading her frenzied thoughts as she pulled up a weed and shredded it into tiny pieces. “Rae, relax. Look at what you’re doing,” he soothed. “Talk to me. We’ll figure this out.”

She glanced down at her hands, seeming surprised to see the pile of abused greenery…and then gasped. “Elfroot. That’s why that plant looked familiar. It was elfroot. Because _of course_ it was.” Her laugh was brittle and vaguely unsettling.

Lacking any more enlightened response, he simply replied, “…what?”

“Never mind,” she muttered, dusting the bits of plant off her lap. Taking a deep breath, she tugged the elastic band from her hair. Combing her fingers through the long, dark waves, recapturing the wayward curls, and returning her hair to its orderly high ponytail helped restore her calm, and she fixed Rob with a look of steady determination.

“Okay. So as I see it, here are the possibilities.” She ticked them off on her fingertips. “One: I am having a super weird-ass dream, which has inexplicably combined the game I’ve been playing lately, you, and an unholy amount of hiking. If that’s true, it doesn’t matter what I do, because eventually I’ll wake up.”

“Two: I am having a seriously detailed hallucination and/or have gone fully insane. If _that’s_ the case, it _still_ doesn’t matter what I do, because I might as well enjoy myself in Psycholand until the good drugs arrive.”

Rob snorted. “Except I’m sitting here with you having this conversation, so unless we’ve developed some sort of sleeping mind-meld or have simultaneously gone batshit, those don’t fly.”

She eyed him shrewdly. “Yes, but if you _were_ a figment of my imagination, that’s exactly what you _would_ say, isn’t it? So, that proves nothing.” Her raised eyebrow and smug expression indicated how pleased she was with her own reasoning.

Rob’s eye roll was practically audible. “Right, naturally. So what’s the next possibility?”

“Three: As you said, it’s possible, though unlikely, that we’re having a shared dream or mental breakdown. But if so, the outcome is the same; we do whatever we feel like until something snaps us out of it.”

“So basically you’re saying, one way or another, this isn’t real. We could run over to Ye Olde Town Square, strip naked, and sing TV theme songs all day, and it wouldn’t make any difference, because we’re just chilling until we hook back up with reality.”

“You didn’t let me get to option four,” she said archly. “Also, please don’t include ‘strip naked’ in any of our future plans, because, gross.”

His nose wrinkled in disgust. “I was joking, obviously. And pardon me, your highness; please, continue.”

“Option four,” she continued haughtily, “is that somehow, the universe glitched and actually dropped us into some sort of alternate dimension.” Her eyes lit with possibility. “Oooh, like…what if it’s some kind of collective consciousness, created by the all the minds that have focused on this game world? From everyone who played the games, read the novels and comics, or even created fan art? How badass would that be?!?”

Rob blinked.

Raven looked away, giving a sheepish shrug. “It would be cool, is all I’m saying,” she mumbled.

His eyes narrowed in blatant skepticism. After a long pause, he replied, “…riiiight.”

“Fine, what’s your theory then, Mr. Smart Guy?”

“That we’ve found some backwoods cult who thinks technology is evil, and it looks like a place from your game by sheer coincidence?”

She glared stubbornly. “The church is called the Chantry. There’s a person out front called a Chanter, wearing a long robe covered with gold trim and images of the sun, standing beside a bulletin board. There’ll be guys in full plate armor with a sword design embossed on the chest; they’re Templars. There’s a stone bridge over the river. Just past that on the right is a larger building; I don’t remember if there’s a sign out front, but it’s the tavern. Since I don’t know exactly _when_ this is, I can’t say where specific people will be, but if we figure that out, I could go on, if you like.”

“So I should just wander in and start poking around?”

Raven glanced skyward as if praying for patience. “Wow, you must have aced whatever recon training they gave you in the Marines. You have a _cell phone camera with zoom,_ jackass. Stand out of sight at the edge of the tree line and look to see if I’m right.”

Flushing in embarrassment, he rose, grumbling. “I would’ve thought of that if I hadn’t been busy talking to my delusional sister.” He ignored the face she made and trudged back to the road.

Shortly thereafter, he returned looking shocked and conceding defeat. Everything she’d said was true. Fortunately, her insufferable smugness was brief. Unfortunately, it dissolved immediately into stress mode again, as she considered the implications.

“Okay, so…let me think. First, you should know magic is a thing here. But don’t bring it up; people will act like you’re trying to chat about herpes. Oh, and there are other races, which…ugh, I’ll just have to explain more as we go; it’s a lot.” Raven was too busy with her rapid-fire analysis to pause for a paltry thing like oxygen. “The Chantry has a small library; if we go there, I should be able to get a better idea of what’s going on.” She looked stricken. “Assuming they speak English. But wait, Ferelden – the country we’re in – is kind of like England, so they should, right?” Glancing at Rob for confirmation he obviously couldn’t provide, she suddenly swore. “Shit, we can’t go there looking like this though; we’ll stick out like sore thumbs. We’ll have to steal something to wear.”

“Nice, five minutes in an unfamiliar environment and you’ve resorted to a life of crime. I’m so proud.”

“Heh, the problem is that it’s a bit too familiar, actually. And unless you have a sheep and a loom tucked in your backpack, I don’t know any other way to get clothes without being seen. Maybe one of those farms will have laundry out to dry.” Guiltily, she added, “We can return it later.”

And thus, for lack of a better plan, Rob found himself near an isolated house, just past the outskirts of a town that didn’t exist, in a world that wasn’t real, stealing clothing he didn’t want. Before he could stop and reflect upon these amusing quirks of fate, he snatched a few items that looked suitable, and hoped Raven would hurry up so they could sneak away.

And then, from the other side of the clothesline, he heard his sister exclaim, “Oh, for fuck’s sake…you have _got_ to be kidding me.” If nothing else, he thought with a sinking heart, the day had certainly been interesting.

Raven stood opposite a woman who was presumably the owner of the laundry in question, even though her lithe form was currently wrapped in head-to-toe leather (an image he hastily filed away for later review). The short, chunky hair that surrounded her head like a dark, windswept halo was a shocking contrast against her fair skin and aquamarine-bright eyes. She didn’t seem overly concerned at facing a vicious pair of laundry thieves, but he felt this was probably related to the ease with which she twirled the wicked-looking dagger in her hand.

A myriad of expressions warred on Raven’s face so violently that he couldn’t read any of them. “Uh, this isn’t what it looks like. Well, it sort of is, but kind of not, but…” She paused and started over, with a brilliantly fake smile. “Hi. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Raven, and this is my brother Rob. And you are?”

He found it strange that Raven looked unsurprised… and oddly resigned?...when the woman raised an amused eyebrow and replied, “I’m Marian. Marian Hawke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving the response so far. Thank you so much; it's so much easier to keep at it when I can see people are reading and enjoying the work. Clearly, I am a shameless praise seeker. ;)


	3. It’s Who You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marian Hawke trusts her instincts, and discovers her laundry thieves are much more interesting than she expected.

Growing up with two illegal mages in the family, forever hiding from the mage-hunting Templars, and moving all across the country whenever neighbors grew too suspicious, Marian Hawke had seen a pretty broad range of odd things. But the two strangers she’d found, dressed in what looked like underwear, pillaging her laundry, were rapidly climbing the list.

They hadn’t tried to run when she caught them, which was weird enough on its own. She’d thought about getting the jump on them, but killing random people in a small town like Lothering was a fabulous way of drawing unwanted attention. Instead, she’d just let herself be seen to find out how they’d react.

And the female of the two proceeded to politely introduce herself like she was a duchess arriving to dine with the empress of Orlais. Marian couldn’t help but admire her nerve, to try bluffing out of getting caught half-naked and mid-theft, so the only natural response was to invite the pair in for tea. Obviously.

The fact that the male of the pair…Rob, was it?...was fun to look at was just an added bonus.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” she said grandly, gesturing around the cottage’s main room with a flourish. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’d ask if you wanted to dress for the occasion, but that seems rather unlikely.” The woman, Raven, met her smirk with a small huff of surprised laughter, but her brother still looked confused and suspicious. Marian felt a sudden burst of kinship; maybe her little brother Carver wasn’t unique in his inability to follow his sister’s lead or carry on polite conversation.

“You’re too kind,” said Raven. “Especially because you just met us rifling through your belongings. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you brought us inside to end us where there wouldn’t be witnesses.” Her lips twisted with humor, even as her brother gritted his teeth and gave her a look that shouted, _‘what are you doing?!?’_ Interesting.

“Oh? And how _do_ you know better, exactly? In any case, you’re correct. I’d never bring someone in the house to kill them. The blood is just _so_ difficult to get out of the floorboards.”

Raven laughed again, as Marian rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out cider and some bread. It was plain fare, but she wasn’t going to fuss about what to serve her thieves. “Help yourselves…again,” she told them with a quirk of her lips. “I’ll be right back.” She ducked into her mother’s workroom and closed the door, then put her ear to the door to listen.

As expected, she heard Rob’s urgent hiss. “What the hell are we doing here, Rae? This chick caught us trying to rip her off and she clearly knows what to do with a knife. I could hold my own if shit hits the fan, but what are you going to do, _chat_ her to death?”

“Relax, Rob. She’s not going to hurt us. She’s _Hawke_. If she _wanted_ to kill us, we’d be dead already. God, it just figures that of all the houses around Lothering, we’d end up at _hers_. Though, if she’s still here, it does narrow down the time frame a bit, at least.”

“I take it the name is supposed to mean something?”

“She’s the main character of the second game in the series. She saves a whole city of people several times over.” The woman’s voice grew quieter, pondering. “I just don’t know how much we can tell her without making her think we’re nuts…or taking the chance of screwing up the plotline.” A gasp, followed by a string of curses. “And I’m an idiot. It’s _Hawke_. She probably just listened to this whole conversation.”

Marian’s eyes were afire with interest, and it took her a moment to notice that her mother and sister were looking at her in total bewilderment. “Oh, hey Mum, hey Beth. Funny story. I found some strangers in their underwear trying to steal our laundry, so I invited them in for tea. They’ve got some kind of big secret I want to figure out, so just stay in here for a bit and don’t come out until I give the all-clear, okay?”

The incredulous looks she got in response indicated that it was _not,_ in fact, okay, and they felt she might possibly be insane. “I can see how that might have sounded a little crazy, but just trust me. I’ve got a feeling about this. I need to get back out there, but it’ll be fine, I promise.” She ducked out the door before they could protest.

Admittedly, her decision _may_ have been influenced by the fact that she was painfully bored. Mother and Bethany had been toiling away making potions to send south to the army, which was very admirable, but utterly dull. And her brother Carver, the prat, had just left to join up with the king’s forces, so she couldn’t even pick a fight for entertainment…a circumstance she found highly unfair, since everyone knew she was better in a fight. But with all the soldiers coming and going, someone had to stay and watch out for Bethy, and Carver had whined so much that she’d finally sent him off out of sheer self-preservation. 

Bethany, of course, protested she was perfectly capable of protecting herself. Marian had observed irritably that Bethy’s method of self-defense was magic, the very thing they’d all bent over backward to keep hidden for years. This resulted in Bethany bursting into tears and storming off, wailing about how everyone blamed her for everything.

The twins had just turned eighteen, and though Marian was only a handful of years older, sometimes it felt like decades. She loved her siblings dearly. That’s why _most_ of the time, she only wanted to _slightly_ throttle them.

Closing the door behind her, Marian sauntered over to the table and took a seat, helping herself to a mug of cider and serenely pouring one for each of her (for lack of a better word) _guests._ Then, she sliced a piece of the thick, chewy bread, and proceeded to butter hers generously…and slowly. Curiosity was killing her, but their growing nervousness as they waited to see what she’d do was, to be honest, pretty amusing.

Finally, as they’d both hesitantly begun to join her in eating, she smiled at Raven. “So, I’m the savior of a whole city, hmm? Strange; that really seems like the sort of thing I’d remember.”

Rob choked and spluttered a bit on his drink, but Raven only muttered a heartfelt curse under her breath. “See, I told you,” she told him grumpily, pushing her odd black-rimmed spectacles further up on her nose, before turning to Marian with a sigh. “Okay, umm…let me think how to explain this.”

“The truth is generally a good starting place.”

“Well yes, but this is…well, it’s complicated.”

“Somehow I don’t think Facebook relationship statuses are going to do the trick here, Rae,” said Rob.

Hawke blinked. “…what?” Maker, they were bizarre.

“Never mind,” said Raven, with an irritated glare at her brother. Again, Marian thought briefly of Carver, wondering if he’d reached the king’s army in Ostagar yet, and what obnoxious remarks he’d have made about these siblings if he were still here.

Raven spoke again after a moment. “So, maybe the easiest way to start is by thinking of the Fade…the realm where people go when they dream, and where mages get their magic from,” she elaborated, looking at her brother. It seemed an unnecessary explanation, Marian thought, because everyone knew what the Fade was, but Rob tilted his head slightly, listening. “The Fade and the waking world are separate, and yet they…overlap, right? People travel between them, mentally, under certain circumstances.”

“As much as I appreciate this lovely review of natural history, I’m not sure how it relates,” Hawke drawled.

“I’m getting to that,” Raven snapped, fidgeting. “Imagine there are other realms like that…overlapping, maybe just barely touching, but connected.” Marian looked skeptical, but nodded. “Okay, now think of how dreams in the Fade seem after you’re awake…vaguely remembered, maybe, almost like a story you’ve read rather than something that really happened, right? What if, in one of these _other_ realms, people experience _your_ world the same way _you_ experience the Fade? That their minds travel here to be with you as you fight your battles, face your fears, and celebrate your victories. And that afterward, when they…wake up, so to speak…they remember all of that like a story, a dream of another world.”

“…ohhhkaaaay….” Marian raised a brow, sort of hoping Bethany’s usual nosiness had kicked in. If she was eavesdropping on all this, a mage’s perspective could come in handy later.

“Right, so…that’s the normal order of things. But then you have mages, and the way they travel to the Fade is different. They can go there awake, and they’re…I dunno, more _there,_ I guess you could say.” Hawke nodded again, and Raven went on hesitantly, watching her expression. “In fact, if you believe in the literal truth of the Chant of Light, there has been at least one occasion where mages travelled to the Fade in physical form. And being as that was not how things are meant to be, they blundered around and managed to wreak a devastating amount of havoc.”

“Wow, natural history and Chantry doctrine, all in one lesson! I hope I’m not getting a tutoring bill at the end of all this.” It wasn’t the first time Hawke used snark to cover uneasiness, but in this case it felt necessary. Because she was starting to get a bad feeling they were headed straight for next-level crazy.

She shot a quick glance at Rob to see how he was responding to his sister’s speech, and got a jolt when she found his intensely blue gaze meeting her own. Hawke swallowed hard, reminding herself that he was most certainly just trying to gauge her reaction, and her stomach had absolutely no business flipping about in such a ridiculous fashion around a virtual stranger. Even if said stranger was unnecessarily attractive and wearing little more than an undershirt and smallclothes, which did very little to conceal his tall, athletic frame and its broad-shouldered strength...

Maker’s breath, Raven was still talking, and Marian realized she’d missed the last sentence and a half.

“…would obviously, then, want to be extremely cautious if they somehow…maybe accidentally, even...entered this realm, the way the magisters entered the Fade. So they didn’t, you know, destroy the world or something.”

Hawke let the silence stretch out while she digested what she’d heard. “Okay, tell me if I’m putting this together right. You’re expecting me to believe the two of you came here from some other realm by mistake, and you’re trying to figure out how to avoid causing the next darkspawn plague or something. And step one was stealing our laundry, because you had this dream where I save a city, and figured I’d be fine with it.”

Raven opened her mouth, blinked, and closed it again. “Well…yes. Sort of. Except we didn’t know it was _your_ laundry when we got here; that part was an accident.”

Marian’s eyes narrowed. She gave the pair full marks for originality, but they were either trying to con her, or they were completely insane. And she didn’t want any of that around Mother or Bethy, so…

And then Rob said, “Darkspawn plague? What’s that; is there some kind of sickness here, Rae?”

Hawke stared, mouth agape. “You…but…what??” Even for criminals or lunatics, feigning ignorance of darkspawn while the armies gathered to fight them seemed to be taking it a bit far. But Rob’s confusion and alarm seemed distressingly real.

Raven ignored her incredulous sputtering, and explained to her brother that the darkspawn were a type of misshapen and corrupted monster that usually lived deep underground, but that periodically they would discover and contaminate a sleeping dragon, said to be an old god from the distant depths of this world’s history. The corrupted dragon would become an Archdemon, and lead the monsters swarming to the surface where they would destroy everyone and everything in their path, until defeated by a group called Grey Wardens, sort of a Special Forces unit made for that purpose.

“When that happens, it’s called a Blight. There have been four in the past, and,” she added grimly, “if this is when I think it is, the fifth one is about to begin.”

 _That_ grabbed all of Marian’s attention. “No, they don’t think it’s a Blight. The king’s men just passed through on their way to Ostagar, and they told everyone that it’s just a large raid. That they’ll put down the monsters coming up through the Korcari Wilds and everything will go back to normal.” She ignored that her voice was less certain than she would’ve liked.

“No,” the shorter woman said softly, her voice heavy with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Hawke. It’s not just a raid. And nothing is going to be normal for a very long time.”

________________________________________

In the end, even after Bethany and their mother, Leandra, had joined them (Beth’s curiosity having gotten the better of her), and Raven had carefully answered dozens of questions, looking more nervous at each one…it was Rob who’d convinced them. In exasperation, he’d reached into the pocket of his breeches (Marian pointedly did not think about his breeches) and pulled out a small, flat rectangular object. His finger brushed over a spot near the bottom, and the whole thing lit up with tiny words and pictures.

He only chuckled a little when all three Hawke women recoiled, then leaned closer, entranced. “It’s a cell phone. On our world we use them for lots of things…to talk to each other, send messages, take photos – um, that’s like…painting a picture, I guess, except faster? – read books, play games…all kinds of stuff. A lot of it won’t work here, because it needs, uh, a kind of building that you don’t have. But I can still show you some of it.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” said Raven. “I doubt they’ll have any outlets handy when the battery dies.”

“You’re probably right. Good thing your oh-so-clever brother knows your technology addiction, and brought a solar-powered lantern with a USB charging port.”

Raven’s eyes lit up nearly as bright as the small flat thing. Marian had no idea what most of that meant, but apparently it was good news, since Raven quickly brought a similar item out of her own pocket, and started showing it to Bethany and Leandra.

Marian watched as Rob pressed a spot on the object, and it filled up with an image, as clear as if she were looking through a window. She gasped. The tiny painting showed Rob and Raven, looking a bit younger, with an older woman who resembled them…their mother, maybe? They were smiling broadly, and Rob was wearing some kind of uniform. Gingerly, Marian stroked the image with one fingertip. It felt cool and smooth, like glass, but she gasped; her touch had caused the first painting to be replaced with another. Horrified, she looked up at Rob. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to make it go away! Did I ruin it?”

He laughed. “No, it’s okay. The photo is…” He glanced up to meet her eyes, and only then did they both realize how close they’d gotten. “Ah…fine; it’s fine.” A small smile caught the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Marian. See?” He gently took her hand and brushed her finger over the picture in the other direction, and the image changed back. That was great and all, but it paled in comparison to the fact that her hand in his was as warm as the sun and covered in lightning. But, you know…in a good way.

His grin widened. “Actually, here…let me show you something.” He picked up the…what had he called it? A phone?...and poked it a few times, then pointed the back of it at her. “Look at me and smile,” he said, and not entirely sure why, she obeyed. He placed the thing back on the table a moment later, looking expectant.

She glanced at it, and then back at him in shock. “It’s…me! How did you…are you sure it’s not magic?”

“No, just a machine,” he smiled at her, his eyes warm. “But it’s useful for helping me remember when I’ve seen something beautiful.” He glanced down at her picture and back, and her disobedient stomach did that little flutter again.

“Hmm…interesting. I can see how that could be useful. Maybe you can show me more neat tricks later.”

“Anytime,” he replied with a low chuckle.

And then his sister cleared her throat, rolled her eyes, gave her brother a sardonic shake of her head, and said, “At any rate…now that we’ve got that out of the way, we just have to figure out how to avoid wrecking the world.”

“Oh, is _that_ all?” Bethany raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “And here I thought you were going to bring up a really _difficult_ problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know that technically a rogue Hawke should have gone off to Ostagar with Carver, but it always bugged me that they'd both go off and leave the rest of the family unprotected with all the increased traffic in the area. So, I told her to stay home. ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for the support so far! It has been incredibly encouraging and keeps me motivated to write more. I'm aiming for a bi-weekly update schedule (Wednesday/Saturday), so there's more to come in a few days. :D


	4. When a Plan Comes Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hawke family helps hardcore technology addict Raven figure out how to exist in a world without electricity. Leandra is a surprising source of wisdom.

Raven pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She’d begun the day in a tent in the woods, which really should’ve been a sign. She’d spent hours _hiking_. Reality went flying out the window (or it would’ve done, if they’d been in a properly climate-controlled building instead of outdoors like savages) when she discovered she was stranded in a world that didn’t exist. She got caught trying to steal someone’s clothes. The someone turned out to be _Marian-freaking-Hawke_ , in whose home she’d then spent the afternoon and just enjoyed a pleasant evening meal.

She left Rob at the table, demonstrating cell phone photo filters to the two sisters. She was pretty sure her brother was _hitting on Marian Hawke_. Meanwhile, she was helping Leandra Amell-Hawke, of the Kirkwall Amells, clear the dinner table. Her boggled mind kept observing on repeat, _‘These are fictional characters.’_

She couldn’t even begin to rate the weirdness level. The crazy was too damn high.

Leandra heard her sigh, and turned to take their empty mugs from her with a sympathetic smile. “You poor dear,” she said, her voice gentle, motherly, and all wrong coming out of a person instead of computer speakers. “You must be at an utter loss with all of this.”

Raven shrugged, with a soft huff of laughter. “A bit.”

“I know it isn’t the same, but I do have some idea of how you must feel.” At Raven’s incredulous glance, Leandra chuckled. “I was born to nobility in the Free Marches, far north across the Waking Sea…and then a charming young apostate mage with laughing eyes came along.” She smiled ruefully. “Things led to things, as they do, and I became with child. My parents were livid that their unmarried daughter was carrying a common, mage-blooded baby. They disowned me, and Malcolm and I had to escape to Ferelden.”

Raven didn’t have the heart to say she already knew all that, so she nodded and let the older woman continue.

“When we first left…Maker, I was a mess. The first night on the ship to Ferelden, I asked when a maid would be sent to my suite to attend me.” Raven stifled her snort of amusement, trying not to be rude, but Leandra wore a self-deprecating grin. “It’s all right to laugh; everyone around me did, with good reason! The further we went, the more terrified I was. Malcolm was sweet, and the people we were with handled all the travel arrangements. But I started realizing that not only had I left behind my whole life, I was starting a _new_ life where nothing I knew was at all relevant.”

“Malcolm would talk about the cozy little home we’d have near Amaranthine, and all I could think of is that I wouldn’t have the first idea what to do with it. I was trained to do things like attend society functions, play the lute, and manage servants. I had never cooked a single meal, and had no notion of how to even begin. As if it weren’t enough leaving my family, bearing my first child, and traipsing through a strange land, I panicked that I’d be utterly useless, and Malcolm would rue the day he’d ever met me.”

Raven’s eyes were haunted. “You _do_ understand.” Her words flooded out in a rush. “Rob, he was in the military where we’re from. He’ll have some adjusting to do, but he can be a fighter and fit in fine. But I…I buy groceries online and cook in a microwave and write software for a living and play video games for fun, and the reason you’re looking at me like I’m speaking gibberish is that none of those things _exist_ here! I took a basic self-defense class once, but I’ve never been in so much as a fist fight. I have no clue what I’ll do if we run into danger…but worse, I feel like I don’t know how to do _anything useful at all!”_ The last came out in a near-wail, and Raven clenched her jaw abruptly in an effort to keep herself together.

The group at the table looked up, as Leandra placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. Raven gave her a small smile, but moved away quickly. “I appreciate the gesture, I honestly do, but if you hug me right now I’ll probably cry, which I _hate.”_

Marian nodded vehemently. “Ugh, I totally get that. Nothing worse than being right on the verge of a fight with some mouthy asshat, and suddenly realizing you’re so mad that you’ve got tears leaking from your face. Hard to be a badass when you look like you need a handkerchief and a cup of tea.”

“Right?!? That is the _worst!_ Then I end up trying to cover it by saying something smartass like, ‘No, the tears are just from the effort I’m putting into not strangling you.’ Strangely, that isn’t the kind of phrase that endears you to your boss. Who knew?”

The rogue and the nerd exchanged an unexpected look of kinship, and Raven felt a little better.

Bethany piped up, tucking a strand of her shoulder-length dark tresses behind her ear. “You’re wrong, by the way. You know something quite valuable.”

“The knowledge of possible future events isn’t exactly the basis of a great career, unless you’re suggesting I start a betting ring,” Raven scoffed.

“Not that,” the mage replied, rolling her eyes. “Given that device of yours, you’re obviously skilled in reading and writing. Lots of people aren’t. Father used to get work writing letters or managing ledgers for people from time to time, and we used to talk about me becoming some sort of scholar when I grew up, as a way to get by without using my magic.”

Raven’s eyes were wide. “That…is _definitely_ something I could do. Bethany, you’re a genius!”

Bethany laughed. “Well, Father was, not me. I’m just a decent listener now and then. But, regardless of what my _sister_ thinks,” she gave Marian a sharp sideways glance, “I _have_ put a fair amount of thought into how to get by when I can’t use my primary skills.”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” the eldest Hawke sibling said, holding her hands up in surrender. “You’re not helpless, and I should stop treating you like it. I’m sorry. But I’m still not going to stand back and let you throw yourself at danger.”

“Of course not; you should stand in front of me and get hit first,” Bethany smirked.

“And Carver can be the big dumb meat shield in front of both of us,” Marian agreed.

“Well, it’s logical for him to do what he’s best at.”

Leandra shook her head with an amused sigh. “Ah, my children. Such love for each other.”

Meanwhile, Raven had gotten an idea. “Hey, do you have anything written in Orlesian, by any chance?”

“Hmm… one of my magical theory books might have some Orlesian text; why?”

“Can I see it?” Rae asked, pushing up her glasses.

Bethany shrugged, and ducked through another door in the four-room cottage, quickly returning with a heavy tome, its leather binding worn with use. Rifling through the pages, she found the section she was looking for. “Here. I don’t actually know what it says; it’s just commentary, and Father joked that we didn’t need the opinions of some stuck-up Orlesian anyway.” Her nose crinkled as she snickered.

Raven read, “The observations…of my, hmm, this must be, Fereldan, colleague are…um, baseless at the, er, at best, and…disastrous at worst. At the…no, as usual, he has made the…he has oversimplified the subject.”

Everyone in the room stared at her in astonishment, before Bethany broke the silence with, “Well, that certainly sounds like what an Orlesian would say.”

Rae smiled brilliantly, clasping her hands to her chest in relief. “I studied a language called French when I was younger; I had a feeling Orlesian might be similar.”

“So,” Marian proclaimed, “you’re a scholar, traveling to Denerim to do some research, with a bodyguard for protection. You’re from…hmm, where are you from?”

“Markham,” Leandra answered promptly. “There’s a university there. It’s a reasonable place for a scholar to hail from, and large enough that one young student might easily go unrecognized among them.”

“Ooh, good idea, Mum,” said Beth, clapping her hands. “Marcher accents are all over the place, so yours shouldn’t seem odd. And it’s an excellent reason why you’d know all sorts of unexpected things.”

“Markham’s near the eastern end of the Free Marches, though,” Leandra fretted. “I’m not sure why you’d come through Lothering if you were traveling from there to Denerim; you’d have been more likely to take ship to Highever or Amaranthine.”

“Oh, I get dreadfully seasick,” Raven said feelingly. “Nothing for it but to travel the long way around by land, especially when it gives me an excuse to stop in so many exciting places along the way.”

Rob had been watching the brainstorming with an expression that said he’d wait for somebody to explain the details at the end, but at that, he looked up with interest. “Really? I didn’t know you get seasick…”

She smirked. “I don’t.”

“So there,” Marian said triumphantly. “Problem solved. The Hawke family is honored to have you accept our hospitality, Lady Raven of Markham, along with Ser Robert, your trusty bodyguard and manservant.”

“Oh, it’s not Robert, it’s –“

“Just Rob is fine,” he cut in with a glare at his sister. “Also…manservant??”

“Well,” Bethany said reasonably, “one can hardly expect a lady of learning who’s spent life with her nose in a book to handle lowly tasks like building campfires and making dinner.”

Rob blinked. “And here I thought we were coming up with a _fictional_ backstory for you, Rae.”

“Ha ha, very funny. Pipe down, manservant.”

________________________________________

As much as Raven wanted to immediately start working out how to get back, taking time to plan was a necessary evil. The Hawkes insisted they stay as long as necessary, sharing their meals, and even giving them each a set of suitable clothing. Raven tried to protest their generosity, but Leandra wouldn’t hear it. “Don’t be silly, child,” she said. “This is the best thing about being a commoner; we help each other when it’s needed instead of kicking people when they’re down like nobles do. If you still feel some need to repay us, there are always tasks around here that could use a few more hands.” Since Raven knew the Hawkes would be fleeing their home soon with only what they could carry, she decided not to argue.

Sleeping arrangements were surprisingly comfortable, and highly preferable to a tent in the woods. Bethany bunked in with her mother, and in the siblings’ room, Raven took Beth’s usual spot with Marian, and Rob slept in Carver’s bed. “I can’t believe I’m sleeping next to Marian Hawke,” Raven said that first night, when she and Rob were alone a moment.

“Me either,” said Rob with a grin. “Wanna trade?” She swatted him.

The next few days flew by as they adjusted to their new setting. Rob helped with heavier tasks that usually fell to Carver. Raven joined Leandra and Bethany, learning how to make potions. She even helped with the mending, having learned some sewing and embroidery from her grandmother as a child. Little by little, her feelings of helplessness began to abate.

Rob spent the afternoons sparring with Marian, trying a variety of practice weapons the Hawkes had carved and used over the years. The training he’d received with a riot shield and baton transitioned fairly well to a sword and shield; Raven suspected the idea of looking like a classic knight appealed to him as well. He ended up on his butt in the dirt a lot, but to Hawke’s obvious approval, he took it in good humor. Soon enough, his number of falls began to decrease.

Raven, unfortunately, was another case altogether. Despite the best efforts of Marian, Rob, and even Bethany, the would-be scholar was utterly hopeless with any melee weapon, in part because she ducked and flinched at the first hint of attack. And the time they’d tried giving her a bow…well, the best that could be said was that _most_ of the arrows were eventually found, and the chicken she’d accidentally shot made a tasty supper. Her aim was good, but her arm was simply not strong enough. Rae began to think her only defense would be finding a big rock to hide behind.

The morning after the chicken incident, Rob was struck with inspiration. He conferenced with Marian, the pair went off to a small shed, and emerged with a large, lumpy object wrapped in burlap. “Father had a crossbow he used to use for hunting. No one’s used it much in the last few years, since Carver and I prefer longbows and Bethy doesn’t hunt. But Rob thought it might work for you.”

The crossbow was plain but sturdy. Marian showed Raven how to use the lever to pull the string back, place the bolt, hold the crossbow, aim, and pull the trigger. The mechanics were simple enough, and it didn’t have much recoil. The more experienced fighters hoped it would give her less trouble.

Raven took hold of the weapon, loaded one of the stout, wicked-looking bolts, sighted down the wooden stock, and aimed for the same nearby straw target she’d utterly failed to hit with the longbow. With luck, she thought, maybe this time she’d avoid casualties. She calmed her mind, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.

The straw dummy suffered a painfully fatal wound directly to the heart.

It took a moment for Rob and Marian’s cheers to penetrate the stunned relief in her brain. She gave Rob a shaky laugh. “Look out; my sniper skills are back. Who says games aren’t educational?” Marian grinned and gifted her the disused crossbow on the spot.

________________________________________

That afternoon, Rob and Raven sat outside in the grass, basking in the late summer sun and using Rob’s lantern to charge their phones. They’d been with the Hawkes for a very productive four days, but they both knew it couldn’t last. “How long can you be gone from base before you get in trouble?” Raven asked.

“I took three weeks of leave. You?”

“Meh, all I’d get is fired. I’m more concerned about you getting charged with desertion. Assuming time goes by at the same rate here, which is one of the many things we don’t know.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“The nearest place that might have any information about travel between realms is Kinloch Hold, but they’re about to experience a major malfunction of the demonic variety. It doesn’t start until at least a few weeks after the Battle of Ostagar, which shouldn’t have happened yet. But I don’t know if we could get there and find answers before all hell breaks loose.”

She continued, “In the game, travel is more or less instant, so I can only guess walking distance. A week, maybe? Then, _if_ they let us in, and _if_ we can find a simple way to get home in the giant library of complex magical theory books, and _if_ we can manage it before the third week is up...” She pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes, feeling overwhelmed.

Rob’s reply was quiet. “Look, Rae, we’ve got enough to deal with as it is. Let’s focus on what we need to do _here,_ and deal with our world when – _if_ – we get back. It doesn’t do us any good to haul ass to some library if we get eaten by monsters on the way.”

“True, I guess. Besides, if we tried to rush off, Hawke would probably insist on coming to help, and she _definitely_ can’t leave Lothering, because…she can’t.”

“So what are our options?”

She sighed. “I’ve been thinking about that. Along with our research, I feel like we need to keep an eye on major events, to make sure we haven’t messed them up. In case this place actually is real, or…” she looked away, “…if we can’t get back. There are two important chains of events that will begin here shortly.”

“One is that the Hawkes will fight their way out of Ferelden and go to Kirkwall. They’ll have to bribe their way in, and one way or another, Marian will be fighting for a year to pay off the debt. We _might_ get to stay with her, but it’s unlikely. We’d probably have nowhere to live, and nowhere to do any research.”

It was Rob’s turn to look away; he’d obviously enjoyed his time with Hawke. “Right. What’s the other path?”

Raven took a deep breath. “The other is – God, I feel crazy saying this – two Grey Wardens will show up in Lothering soon, getting ready to gather forces to defeat the Blight. One of them is the main character of the first game. One of the things he or she will be doing is going to Kinloch Hold to solve the Circle’s little demon problem. If we can tag along with their party, we could probably use the library afterward. Whatever parts of it aren’t on fire or covered in guts, at least.”

“Sounds like there’s an obvious right choice here.”

“I’m sorry, Rob; I really like her too. All three of them, really, and not just because they’ve helped us so much.” She pushed her glasses up, thinking. “But we don’t even know for sure if we’ll be _able_ to join the Wardens. So, if we can, we will, and if not, we’ll stick with the Hawkes. And if the Blight ends and…and we’re still here, we’ll be heading north to see her anyway.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of her brother’s mouth. “Okay.”

She raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Hey, you haven’t met Carver yet; he’s a pain in the ass. You might end up thanking me for this plan.” They both laughed.

________________________________________

With all of that decided, there was only one main issue still plaguing Raven’s mind. She sat with Leandra that evening, mulling it over while mending one of Carver Hawke’s shirts (because, she snickered to herself, what was one more weird detail at this point?). “I just don’t know how I should act,” she said. “On one hand, I’m terrified we’ll destroy the normal flow of events…that we may have already done that just by being here.”

The older woman nodded attentively, and Raven had the extraneous thought that even in worn nightclothes with her silver hair in a ponytail, Leandra Hawke looked more poised and elegant than Raven had ever felt a day in her life. “And on the other?”

“On the other…there are things I feel like I’d _have_ to try to change. I mean, some bad things are probably necessary, or else everything resulting from them would crumble. But…” She glanced sidelong at Leandra. “If, for instance, I know someone is going to get hurt, I can’t just sit by and let it happen…can I?”

Hawke’s mother smiled gently. “The simple – and difficult – answer is to follow your heart. We can’t know the Maker’s plan, and insisting on trying to unravel it is a good way to drive yourself mad. If I’ve learned one thing, my dear, it’s that life is too precious to waste time wondering what might have been. Suppose you tell a man to go inside so he doesn’t get hit by a cart, and then he trips and falls down the stairs instead,” she eyed Raven shrewdly. “Did you _cause_ him to get hurt, or prevent it being _worse?_ Or was he going to be hurt no matter _what_ you did? You can’t know. All you can do, all _any_ of us can _ever_ do, is what we believe is right. Then, if things go awry, at least we can take comfort in knowing we did all we could.”

Raven fell silent, realizing that again, this unexpected source had said exactly what she needed to hear. She was rather ashamed to remember the uncharitable way she’d viewed Hawke’s mother when playing the game. Then, she’d sometimes seen Leandra as melodramatic or petty. Now, Raven saw a woman who’d unflinchingly pursued her beloved into the wild maelstrom of fate, accepting the consequences and resolutely building an entirely new life.

And maybe, here in this bewildering turn of events, that was an attitude she needed to take to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucky for Raven that crossbows are widely held to be easier to learn than longbows, or lying there like a slug would've been her only defense. ;) I honestly never put much thought into the life of Leandra Hawke before writing this chapter. Like Raven, I found her kind of whiny and annoying. But with further thought...she's actually kind of awesome.
> 
> Much dialogue, I know. But most of our stage is set at this point, so more action is on the horizon. Next chapter is winding up Lothering, and after that...Alistair. (Yay!) 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the comments and kudos. This is the most fun I've ever had writing; knowing that people are enjoying my work makes a monumental difference in motivation. :)


	5. Such Sweet Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events begin to fall in motion. Raven gets ready to move on from Lothering. Rob & Hawke try to avoid thinking.

The next day, Rob woke early. He opened his eyes, and in the soft light of dawn, the first thing he saw was Marian Hawke’s face. She still slumbered in the small room’s other bed, her onyx hair wild and ruffled with sleep. Wistfully, he wished he’d known her long enough to have the chance to maybe wake up by her side. But, if all went as planned, they’d be leaving soon and he would never see her again.

He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to sort out his thoughts. Hawke was undeniably beautiful, in addition to being strong, capable, funny, and kind of a badass. But he knew better than to claim some deep sentiment for a woman he’d known less than a week. Especially one who, all evidence to the contrary, wasn’t even _real._

Still…

He shook his head. _Seriously, dumbass,_ he lectured himself. _You’re stuck in some crazy-ass King Arthur story, with no idea how to get back to everyone and everything you know, if it’s even possible. If you_ do _get back, you might be AWOL by then. And the thing that’s got your shorts in a twist is that you don’t get to hook up with your new pretend girlfriend?!? Drag your head out of your ass and get it together!_

With a deep breath, he rolled over to get up and found his gaze caught and held by aquamarine eyes that stole his breath, surrounded by skin like a dream of clouds, above lips he was definitely _not_ thinking about, because that would be stupid, stupid, stupid.

But still…

________________________________________

Rob, Raven, and Marian walked into Lothering just after breakfast. His new clothes, courtesy of the absent Carver Hawke, felt strange; the materials were comfortable enough, he supposed, but apparently the dude was made entirely of tree trunks. Rob had thought himself reasonably ripped, but apparently video game proportions weren’t constrained by a minor thing like reality. The thought put him further out of sorts, which was something of an achievement.

It helped not at all when Marian told Rae that apparently Carver’s attitude went with his clothes, and they both giggled merrily. Rob decided that if he ever met Carver Hawke, they were going out for a beer, and oh-so-witty sisters would not be invited.

They made a quick circuit of the area. Hawke’s eyes narrowed in concern at the tents that had sprung up in a small grassy area near the Chantry, holding refugees fleeing homes to the south. They hadn’t been there when he and his sister first arrived, and Rob’s tension ratcheted up a notch. It was nothing, though, compared to when they reached the other end of the village, and Raven saw a strange-looking gray-skinned giant of a man in a cage.

When Marian went to chat with someone, Rae dragged him into an out-of-the-way nook and looked up at him, eyes wide. “That’s Sten; he’s a Qunari. And if he’s already in that cage, we have less than twenty days until the Wardens reach Lothering.” But then, some discreet eavesdropping revealed that the Qunari had already been there for over two weeks. Raven paled, and cursed herself for not checking that in the first place. He reminded her that at the time, they’d expected to come right back to Lothering.

The thought drew his gaze to Marian Hawke, as if it hadn’t been on her anyway. She was leaning against a fence rail, chatting to a wrinkled, white-haired woman with an air of authority. A moment later, she scurried back over, looking as ashen as Raven…which was disquieting, because until that point, he’d never seen her rattled by anything.

“Elder Miriam says army scouts were just here, and told her Teyrn Loghain and all his men will be passing through in a few days, heading north to Denerim. They said the darkspawn overran Ostagar. That it was a…a slaughter.” Her voice wavered, and her hands were balled into fists to keep from shaking.

And Carver had been there. Without conscious thought, Rob drew her close. His jaw brushed her temple, and he held her while she tried to breathe through her fear. He didn’t let himself think about how natural it felt to have her in his arms.

From his side, Raven said softly, “It’s okay, Marian. Carver is all right. It’ll take him a few weeks to get back here, but I promise he is alive.”

At that, Hawke raised her head, blinking hard. She was slightly flushed, but her face was dry. An incongruous smile quirked his lips, as he remembered her talking with Rae about their mutual loathing of tears. Lord save him from stubborn women, he almost prayed, but even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie.

_Dammit,_ he berated himself, releasing her like she’d caught fire. _You have no business cuddling up to Fictional Badass Girl. We are leaving and will never see each other again. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Marian was too preoccupied to notice. “I don’t understand. Everyone says Teyrn Loghain is a hero and a brilliant strategist. Retreating to regroup, I could see, but why would he be _leaving?_ He can’t mean to just _abandon_ us to the darkspawn…can he?”

Rae’s eyes flashed with a surprising rage, and her hushed voice was fierce. “Yes, he can, because he’s a traitorous asshole. His forces were signaled to charge, but he retreated instead, leaving King Cailan and almost all the Grey Wardens to be butchered.”

A gasp of shock escaped the taller woman. “King Cailan…is dead? And the Wardens? But why? How will they end the Blight, if there are no Wardens?”

“Because, by the grace of…,” her eyes shifted sideways, “…the Maker and assorted other deities…Loghain missed a couple. There are two Wardens left in Ferelden, and they’ll have to figure the whole thing out on their own.”

“But that’s…it’s too…we have to help them!”

Raven shook her head solemnly. “You have your own path, Hawke, and the first step is waiting for Carver to get back, and then getting your family to safety.”

The rogue looked at them for a long moment. “You’re going with them.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rob looked out across the treetops, and Raven sighed. “We’re going to try. I _am_ sorry, seriously. I wish we could all stay together. You and your family have been amazing. But we have to try to get back home.”

“We’ll all need travel supplies, then.” Marian’s shoulders squared, and her tone abruptly became businesslike. “Shops probably won’t have much, with all the refugees, but I’ll check.”

“Good. I need to look for someone in the Chantry, and,” she looked at them with a weak smile, “Rob can stick with you in case there’s stuff to carry.” Raven headed toward the church and its giant spiky sun.

The silence stretched out as Rob and Marian both examined the dirt at their feet with great interest. Finally, Rob broke the silence. “Marian, I –“

At the same moment, she said, “I have to tell you –“ 

They laughed awkwardly, and he inclined his head with a smile. “Ladies first.”

“Well, I…I just wanted to say that I’m really glad I met you. A-and your sister, of course.” She ran a nervous hand through her short, tousled hair. “And…I hope you manage to find a way home.”

Giving up the fight with his better judgement, he stepped closer to her. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t,” she agreed breathily.

The quiet corner they stood in became its own world, as his focus narrowed to Hawke’s face. He wanted to look into her jewel-bright eyes, but his gaze kept wandering to her lovely mouth, and he got distracted wondering what it would feel like, taste like.

There was, of course, only one way to find out.

He cupped her cheek in his palm and leaned down, slowly closing the gap between them until her lips brushed his, light as a breath. He shuddered, pulse racing, but tried to be gentle and sweet, wanting to build a fond memory of this first kiss that would probably be their last.

Hawke had other ideas.

In a trembling rush, she closed the remaining space and kissed him back fiercely, the way she did everything. When her arms rose to wind around his neck, her body slid upwards against his, and he gasped, stealing a breath from her lips and wrapping her in his embrace. The tip of her tongue flicked against his mouth, so he opened it…but only to lightly nibble at her bottom lip. The unspoken skirmish for dominance was a draw. They melted into each other until their lungs rudely demanded oxygen; he rested his forehead against hers while they both relearned how to breathe.

“God, Marian, that was…unexpected, but amazing.”

“Yeah.”

“It was probably a really bad idea.”

“Yeah, I know.”

He grinned. “I just can’t seem to care right now.”

“Me either,” she burst into giggles, and he joined her.

________________________________________

They all returned to Hawke’s house a few hours later, with the few supplies they’d managed to purchase. Raven was tense but excited, telling them how she’d managed to speak with a red-haired Chantry sister named Leliana, who would probably be joining the Warden’s party. Rae had spoken to Leliana in Orlesian and, knowing the woman had been a bard, shared a few tales and bits of history. She’d finished by telling of her mission to do research in Ferelden, and her concern that the darkspawn threat would impede her ability to travel. She was hopeful they could build on that connection. “I feel manipulative, using inside knowledge about her like this, but I guess at least I’m not doing it to cause harm,” she shrugged.

Leandra and Bethany had been appalled to hear of the defeat at Ostagar, but Raven’s assurance of Carver’s safety helped. In short order, all three Hawkes began organizing belongings and making plans. When Rae said she wasn’t sure how much they’d actually be able to carry with them, Leandra smiled, saying that at least it gave them something to do besides worry.

They spent the evening giving Rob a crash course in basic information about Thedas. Bethany explained the distrust of mages due to their power and the risk of demon possession, and gave a surprisingly balanced opinion about the Chantry forcing mages to live in the Circle of Magi under the watchful eye of the Templars. Leandra reviewed the nations of Thedas and their nobility, and Raven and Marian filled in as needed.

They all avoided talking about the future.

The next few days were similar, though they spent more time on sparring and target practice, and less time in Lothering due to the passage of Loghain’s troops and the growing influx of refugees. They dodged a group of thugs setting up a blockade on the road to shake down travelers. Marian wanted to teach them a lesson, but Raven laughed and said the Wardens would handle it soon enough.

Marian and Bethany came along on some of the visits to Leliana, as they’d known her for some time and enjoyed her songs and stories. They claimed Raven as a friend of the family, which put Leliana further at ease. Privately, Raven thought about sharing her real story with the lively redhead, but decided it was best to wait. She did, however, mention to Leliana that a few of Loghain’s men had loudly taken up residence in the tavern, spreading unlikely rumors about the king’s death at Ostagar, and making a general nuisance of themselves. Her new friend agreed to keep an eye on it, and Raven knew she would, since that’s where Leliana would first encounter the Wardens.

Time passed quickly, until finally, they expected the Wardens to arrive within a day.

________________________________________

Raven, Marian, and Rob all went to their beds that night far too tense to sleep. Rob’s mind raced in the silent dark, until he heard his sister’s quiet voice.

“Marian, are you awake?” Hawke’s incredulous snort was answer enough, and they all laughed softly. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and…there are a couple of things I need to tell you. I wasn’t sure if I should at first, but I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”

Any trace of humor vanished. They’d discussed Rae’s fear of influencing events, and knew she’d only risk it for good reason. “I’m listening,” he heard Marian say.

“When you leave Lothering, make sure the four of you stay close together, no matter what. You’ll have to fight some darkspawn. If you don’t stick to your mother like glue, Carver may do something heroic and stupid. If he doesn’t, Bethany might, and either way, it…it would be fatal.” Marian gasped, obviously stricken. “I’m sorry; I know this is a horrible thing to tell you, especially when we aren’t sure what can be changed, but I…I have to try. The normal timeline allows one of them to live, but it can be _either_ one, so I think they _both_ could without any major problems.”

Doggedly, his sister went on. “The other thing is similar. In a year or two, you’ll probably travel to some underground dwarven ruins. Do _not_ bring your siblings. The outcome of leaving them behind will seem bad, but trust me, it’s better than the alternative. If they stay home, they will be okay.”

“I do trust you,” Hawke said, with a shaky sigh. “I appreciate the warnings, more than I can say. And I have to believe it will make a difference.”

“I think so too.”

The two women faded to silence, and Rob thought they’d fallen asleep, but a while later, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The dim moonlight silvered the traces of tears on Marian’s face, and she looked young and frightened in her modest nightdress. “I…that is, can…can I…” She stalled, her voice taut with emotion.

Wordlessly, Rob opened his arms and lifted the blanket so she could climb in beside him. He knew how much he’d been stressing about his ability to keep his sister safe. But Marian now knew for a _fact_ that if she wasn’t perfectly vigilant, one of her siblings _would_ die in a matter of weeks. It was more pressure than anyone should have to carry, and yet, he couldn’t fault Raven for laying it on her shoulders.

His arms wrapped around Hawke’s body, her face pressed to his chest, and he softly kissed the top of her head. He wished they were all traveling together so he could help protect her. But if nothing else, he thought, he could give her this small, brief oasis of safety.

They held each other quietly, and soon, they slept.

________________________________________

In the morning, as the Hawkes helped them finish packing, conversations barely stumbled into being before they fizzled. Rob found it bizarre how reluctant they all were to part, despite meeting such a short time ago. Leandra and Bethany now reminded him strongly of his own mother and kid sister, who were probably freaking out about their disappearance. Seeing this thinly-veiled distress at their impending departure washed Rob in guilt; he hated the thought of causing grief to any more people than he already had.

And as for Marian…well.

He looked for Raven and found her walking in the door with a handful of wildflowers. “I just wanted to leave you something cheery to look at,” she said to Leandra, who quickly found an empty vase for the bouquet. Raven went on with a strange intensity. “Wildflowers are my favorite. They remind me that somehow, life always finds a way.” She looked fixedly at Hawke’s mother. “They’re so much nicer than fancy pretentious flowers, don’t you think? Like…oh, lilies, for instance. Ugh. I could never trust a man with the poor taste to give me funeral flowers as a gift!” Her mirth seemed forced at first, but her odd tension abated as Leandra laughed and nodded in agreement.

Finally, they were ready, and it was time for them to head back to Lothering and await the arrival of the Grey Wardens. Rob reminded himself that it was quite possible that group would tell them to take a hike and they’d be back here in a few hours…but somehow he doubted it, and it seemed everyone else felt the same.

Raven thanked the women for all their help and understanding, hugging them all in turn. Marian released her, and gave her a quick but determined nod; she had her warnings, and would not waste them.

Rob gave out his thanks and hugs too, but he hesitated when he reached Marian. His smile was wistful as he moved back a fraction, widening the space between them. The rogue gave another small nod; neither wanted to make things more difficult.

Rob put back on his easy charm. “You’ve got this, Hawke. No foe could possibly stand a chance against your combination of dizzying beauty, sparkling wit, and impressive badassery.”

“You’ll be fine too, _Manservant_ Rob,” she smirked. “As long as none of your enemies are wearing wading boots, they’ll drown in all that shite you’re talking.”

“Gasp! You wound me, madam!” In laughter, they parted, avoiding words of farewell.

Raven and Rob shoved their packs onto their shoulders and headed out. After a few minutes, Rob said, “Rae…I thought your favorite flowers were roses?”

“They are.” Her tone said the subject was closed, and they walked in silence to find their fate in Lothering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Origins characters incoming!! :D


	6. Begin with a Single Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Grey Wardens reach Lothering. Aedan Cousland is annoyed, then puzzled, then annoyed again. In Redcliffe, the Maker demonstrates His lousy sense of humor.

Aedan Cousland was fed up. He’d avoided throttling his companions so far, but the day was still young.

He thought about the blinding speed with which his whole world had changed. Life as a professional second son had been good. His father was the Teyrn of Highever, a man only outranked by the King of Ferelden himself. Aedan, therefore, had learned all the typical skills of a nobleman from the best tutors in the land, but had few actual responsibilities. This left him plenty of time for winning duels and tournaments, and accepting pleasantly enthusiastic congratulations from lovely young ladies of flexible virtue.

Then, his parents, sister-in-law, and young nephew were all murdered. He hadn’t been able to save them, or find his missing older brother, or even hunt down the bastard who did it. Instead, without a moment to mourn, he’d been recruited by a Grey Warden named Duncan, in return for Duncan’s help in his escape. He’d been dragged the length of Ferelden to meet two other Warden recruits, who then both died during the Wardens’ Joining ceremony. He alone survived. Again.

It seemed he’d get a small respite when he and another Grey Warden, Alistair, were assigned to babysit a signal beacon during an upcoming battle. But, of course, it had all immediately gone to the Void. He’d lit the Maker-forsaken signal after fighting through a tower full of darkspawn, and instead of charging as planned, Loghain’s army retreated. The tower was overrun; he’d expected to die. By then, the idea had a certain appeal.

And then he’d awoken to discover a crazy old witch had saved him and Alistair from their presumed fates. In return, she demanded they take her daughter, an obnoxious young mage named Morrigan, with them. They trotted off to somehow save the world from the Blight, with the overwhelming power of…two junior Wardens and an apostate. Because sure, why not.

And instead of helping, or at the very least, _keeping their bloody mouths shut for five minutes_ , Alistair and Morrigan alternated between sniping incessantly at each other and demanding Adan make all the decisions. He liked Alistair well enough, but he had no patience for anyone else’s grief right now, especially while dealing with Morrigan’s constant and gleeful contempt. In short, it was all too fucking much.

He needed a drink.

At least he’d gotten his dog back. He looked fondly down at the giant Mabari warhound who might be all that was left of his family. Mabari were bred for intelligence, and at the moment it felt like Hohaku was the smartest companion he had.

Without bothering to check if the two nuisances were following, he went in search of a pub.

________________________________________

Not long after, Aedan sheathed his daggers and stretched his shoulders. Making embarrassingly short work of Loghain’s men in the tavern had been satisfying. It had been especially enjoyable to send the last one scampering off to tell his traitorous master not to get comfortable on the dead king’s throne.

He’d also met an appealing possibility for _future_ stress relief: a pretty redhead who’d helped them thrash Loghain’s toadies. He found her combat skills rather incongruous with her Chantry robes, but Leliana claimed the Maker _sent her a vision_ that led her to offer her aid against the Blight. She’d taken no vows and wished to join him, and she could obviously handle a fight. He decided that even if she was crazy, she’d still be more pleasant than that harpy Morrigan.

While poking around town to gather news and earn a bit of coin, they also met a human scholar and her bodyguard, a dwarven merchant and his son, and a huge Qunari accused of murder. He brought them all along. When you’re preparing for war and your army is three people and a dog, all extra hands are welcome.

Also he may have been a little drunk.

________________________________________

His various tagalongs started to settle down once they’d gotten underway. Morrigan stayed as far from the others as possible, which suited everyone. The woman was certainly attractive, and her scanty attire flaunted it, but her personality made her as appealing as a dagger dipped in deathroot.

Aedan spoke with the Qunari, Sten. It turned out he had indeed slaughtered a family, children and all, but only because he’d been disoriented after a battle and hadn’t been in his right mind. He clearly regretted it, and had turned himself in willingly, knowing his punishment would be death. None of that excused his actions, of course, but he clearly valued honor, and had pledged to fight the darkspawn. So, Aedan let him be, and he mostly kept to himself.

The scholar’s bodyguard, Rob, had involved Alistair in discussion about sword and shield techniques, which was a relief. It wasn’t that Aedan was unsympathetic to Alistair’s grief at losing a mentor and all the other Wardens. He understood, far better than he wished to. He just couldn’t deal with anyone else’s pain with his own losses still so raw.

As expected, the red-haired former Chantry sister was a thoroughly pleasant traveling companion. Leliana’s presence was somehow soothing to his raw nerves. If he ever moved beyond feeling numb and empty, he thought, perhaps he’d find out if she viewed him in a similarly favorable light.

The merchant dwarf, Bodahn Feddic, was affable enough. His son Sandal appeared a bit addled, but the boy had an impressive gift for enchanting. Aedan was satisfied with their addition to his band of misfits.

Of all those he’d gathered, the one who puzzled him most was the scholar. 

He observed her as he walked; it kept his thoughts from the grief he wasn’t ready to face. Morrigan was raw seduction covered in spikes, and Leliana was a beacon of optimism in a toned body that was far too skilled and agile for the history she claimed, but Raven was perhaps the oddest contradiction of all.

Everything about the woman’s appearance screamed “pampered noble,” from her pale skin unblemished by sun or toil, to the plump, rounded curves that could never belong to a starving commoner. Her strange spectacles were clearly custom-made by a master craftsman, and the mere fact she _was_ a scholar with her own bodyguard bespoke a life of wealth and ease.

And yet…

She behaved like no noblewoman he’d ever met. She and her guard had turned up in simple clothing with basic weapons. When Aedan immediately arranged better gear for them (he didn’t care to be slowed by someone taking a preventable injury), she protested against him spending coin on her behalf, which no noblewoman had ever done in the history of time. She struggled to keep up with the group, clearly not fit enough to walk all day…and yet she _did_ keep up. If she complained, he never heard it. Whenever they paused, she asked endless questions to anyone near, rarely seeming surprised by the answers but always taking delight in them. And if a task arose, she pitched in to help, even though she usually had no idea what to do and her guard had to explain it all.

Raven’s interactions with others in the group were also odd. Not _all_ of them, by any means; _some_ of her responses were perfectly sensible, such as speaking to Leliana with cheerful merriment and Morrigan with annoyed distrust. She met the dwarf with the polite affability appropriate for a new acquaintance, and she smiled sweetly at his son to set the boy at ease. To Aedan, she was diffident but kind, having obviously recognized him as the leader of the party.

But…

She treated her bodyguard with fond familiarity, not at all characteristic of a master and hireling. They spent a fair amount of time huddled together, and nearly all of that involved her murmuring earnestly to the man, and him nodding in reply. Aedan wondered if the pair were romantically involved, but that didn’t seem to fit either; he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

With the Qunari, she used a calm and respectful tone, asking about his culture and occasionally even getting him to string together several words in a row. They’d both been in Lothering; she had to be aware of Sten’s crimes, but if she felt fear or fury, she hid it well.

Around Alistair, her behavior was especially bewildering. It was as if she had two simultaneous and opposite reactions to the man. One moment, she’d drift closer to the other Warden, giggling at his silly jokes and his sarcastic digs at Morrigan. But the next, she’d seem out of sorts, falling back to walk alone…until her bodyguard appeared beside her to tease away her sulk. Aedan promised himself to unravel it in time.

Finally, there was the way she treated Hohaku. Aedan had expected the usual jibes about Ferelden smelling of wet dog, which all foreigners found so amusing. So he was rather startled to see her solemnly hold out a hand to Hohaku, wait for him to sniff it, and then _ask the Mabari for permission_ to pet him.

His jaw snapped closed once he realized it had been hanging open. “You’re…you’re speaking…to my dog?” he asked, eyebrows up to his hairline.

“Oh, I’m sorry…should I not be? I didn’t mean to overstep…”

“No, no, it’s not that, not at all. It’s just…the last time Hohaku was with me and a Marcher was present, the man asked me how much I’d had to beat him to train him for fighting, and whether I’d consider cross-breeding him with his prize bulldog.”

Raven snorted, eyes wide in disbelief. “What an idiot. He’s lucky Hohaku didn’t decide he was too stupid to live and eat him.” Hohaku yipped in agreement, and Raven looked down at him, sharing the joke. “He must’ve been from Ansburg; they’re a bit backward.”

Aedan laughed, his green eyes bright with an amusement he’d rarely felt in the last few weeks. “Starkhaven, actually. When I politely refused cross-breeding, he offered to buy Hohaku from me, ‘price being no object,’ he said. As if one would, or even _could_ , tell a Mabari who to imprint on.”

“Oh good grief,” she giggled, looking at Hohaku. “I most sincerely apologize, good Ser Hohaku, for the ignorance of the fool from my neighboring city-state. I promise never to insult you like that.” Hohaku barked happily, and Raven turned back to Aedan. “To be honest, I’m really more of a…C-A-T person.” He chuckled when she spelled it out as if Hohaku were a curious toddler. “But most dogs are small and yappy, or large and stupid. A Mabari is neither.”

“That’s remarkably Fereldan of you,” Aedan grinned.

________________________________________

When they finally made camp that evening, he sat beside the campfire. Raven joined him. “I wanted to thank you, Warden Cousland, for allowing me to accompany you on your travels.” Her voice was soft, he thought, like everything else about her.

He smiled wearily. “It’s Aedan, and you’re quite welcome, my lady. But I’ve no doubt I’ll have cause to thank _you_ before long. Having your guard as another sword arm is appreciated. And, as it seems I’m to traipse all over Ferelden enlisting the aid of wildly varied people I know little to nothing about, your insights will surely be useful.”

The woman smiled up at him in sympathy, azure eyes large behind her spectacles. “It seems like everything has been dumped in your lap all at once. It must be hard to deal with.”

She said nothing else for a time, and after roughly running a hand through his dark hair, he was surprised to hear himself speaking into the silence. “You could say that. A few weeks ago my biggest concern was remembering which of my mother’s maids I bedded.” He ducked his head in chagrin, realizing what he’d said. “Er, I beg your pardon, my lady.”

She grinned at his discomfiture, her voice rich with sarcasm. “Oh my, yes, I’m terribly scandalized. However shall I go on?”

His huff of startled laughter faded as his mind drifted back to the original topic. “Yes, well. At any rate, then my father’s friend turned up and murdered my family. And in the next moment, I was suddenly responsible for saving all of Thedas. I’ll figure it out somehow; I have no choice. But Maker, I have all of that death churning in my mind, and I can’t be _rid_ of it…” He paused, disconcerted. “I…I’m sorry; all the traveling I’ve done lately must’ve caught up with me. I assure you I don’t typically pour out my woes on near-strangers. Please accept my apologies, Lady Raven, and my word that I _will_ find a way to defeat this Blight.”

Aedan wrapped himself back up in his customary rakish bravado, the defense of choice for scapegrace second sons. He kissed the back of her hand with a flourish and a confident wink.

She simply smiled. “I know you will, Warden. Of that, I have absolutely no doubt.”

________________________________________

They continued on their way toward Redcliffe, in hopes of petitioning the Arl for help. Eamon Guerrin was the uncle of the late King Cailan. Though the Arl was a slightly lower-ranking noble than Aedan’s father had been, Eamon’s positive reputation and the nearness of Redcliffe made it seem like the best place to start. The five days they traveled were largely uneventful, other than a minor bandit skirmish they handled easily.

Despite their urgency, he found himself looking forward to camp each evening, primarily due to Leliana and Raven. The redhead had been a minstrel once, and the brunette was avidly interested in her tales. Leliana taught her songs as they traveled, and the two of them would sing near the campfire until it was time to sleep. They shared melancholy songs of loss and beautiful melodies of redemption. The soft notes of the lute beneath the women’s lilting, ethereal voices loosened something in his soul. 

As he listened in his tent, with Hohaku warm against his back, he finally had a chance to grieve. For his father and mother, brave and fierce, who’d fought to their last breaths so their son could escape to safety. For his young nephew Oren, so full of questions, who would never have the chance to grow into the answers, and for Oren’s doting mother. For his brother Fergus who, if he yet lived, would return only to face horrific loss. For his childhood tutor, his nanny, guards and servants he’d known since birth, all gone forever. He muttered broken curses at the murderer, the Maker, and his own wretched helplessness. 

But as they neared their destination, the worst, most piercing shards of his grief had dissolved and leaked out of him. He wasn’t better, not even remotely, but at least this pain felt…survivable. A heavy rabid shadow didn’t lurk in the corners of his vision, biding its time until his guard slipped and it could come roaring out to choke the life from him. He could focus. He could honor his mother’s wishes, and live.

And if, each morning, he and Alistair ignored each other’s red-rimmed eyes, and the two songbirds shared a look of poignant accomplishment…no one spoke of it. Life went on, and that was enough.

________________________________________

Along the shores of Lake Calenhad, the rooftops of Redcliffe Village finally rose into view, and Aedan sighed in relief. They would stay at the keep, in real beds. There would be real food, instead of a mixture of trail rations and any animal incautious enough to approach the camp. They could _bathe_. Perhaps one of the Arlessa’s maids might want to offer her…personal sympathies…to a newly orphaned Grey Warden.

Beyond that, the Arl had decades of experience in handling Ferelden’s chaos. He had power, riches, and the respect of the other nobles. He’d supply them with troops, and if they were lucky, maybe some horses so they wouldn’t have to bloody _walk_ everywhere. Arl Eamon would know what to do, and he’d help them do it. The fate of the world wouldn’t have to rest solely on the shoulders of one young black sheep who couldn’t even save his own family.

Except, following right along with the rest of his luck, none of his expectations came to pass.

Arl Eamon had fallen mysteriously ill, and the majority of his knights were scattered across the countryside looking for some mythical cure-all. Redcliffe Keep had been sealed without explanation, and no one had been allowed in or out for days. The village was being swarmed nightly by undead, for reasons unknown, and their defense was a handful of untrained peasants already lamenting their imminent doom.

Oh, and Alistair chose that moment to share the minor detail that he was the bastard son of old King Maric, Cailan’s father. He was, therefore, technically a prince, the last scion of the Theirin bloodline. He assured Aedan this was irrelevant; he had no desire to be anything other than a Grey Warden. It somehow failed to occur to him that Cailan’s death would have people scrambling to fit him with a crown regardless of his feelings on the matter. Aedan considered in that moment whether Morrigan’s constant slurs upon Alistair’s intelligence might have some merit after all.

So, Aedan would not, in fact, be resting in a lovely, comfortable manor, getting much-needed help and advice from a respected nobleman. Instead, he would be fighting a shambling horde of monsters, with forces largely comprised of frightened townsfolk, with a man who might become their next king despite lacking any skill or desire for the job.

Aedan growled in frustration. The Maker’s sense of humor was, as always, divine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our friends from Origins finally make their appearance! I hope you all enjoy Aedan. His attitude can be briefly summarized as, "Ugh, of course I'll save the world; somebody has to do it, obviously. But I'd really rather be at a pub with a couple of lovely wenches." He's growing on me. ;)
> 
> More of Raven's flummoxed reaction to Alistair in the next update. >:D


	7. What You Can’t Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redcliffe Village needs defenders, and Raven needs a hug.

Raven had made a severe miscalculation.

They stood outside Redcliffe, while the two Wardens had a hushed conversation nearby. She knew Alistair was telling Aedan of his royal parentage. What kept her from looking away, though, was the brazen afternoon sun. It had turned an already excessive distraction into a monument to starry-eyed adulation, and was rudely inhibiting her ability to process oxygen.

In recent days, Raven had pondered the proper classification of certain colors. Gold wasn’t quite right, nor was red or light brown. At last, she’d decided the shade of Alistair’s hair was “molten copper dipped in sunlight.” Similarly, his precise eye color could only be described as “fireflies swimming in dark honey.” The mortifying amount of time she’d spent on the subject did not bear thinking about, especially when her highly amused brother was anywhere nearby.

For the eleventy-billionth time, Raven cursed her own short-sightedness. Traveling with the Wardens _had_ been the logical choice to both monitor events and research getting home. But somehow, she’d failed to really think about the fact that she’d be face to face with _Alistair,_ a game character who’d always filled her with dreamy sighs and butterflies. She had his image as _desktop wallpaper on her computer,_ for pity’s sake. She had no doubt she was making a total idiot of herself at regular intervals. Scholar, indeed.

Leliana caught Rae’s frustrated sigh. Her eyes flicked in the direction of Raven’s gaze, and the corner of her mouth lifted in an impish smirk. “So that’s how it is, hmm?” she teased, in her purring Orlesian accent.

“How what is?” Raven’s feigned ignorance only made the redhead giggle.

“Which one is it? The tall, dark noble with the suave charm and troubled past? Or the golden-haired knight with the adorable shyness and playful wit?”

“It’s really more of a sunlit copper,” Raven corrected, and immediately regretted all her life choices.

Leliana’s blue eyes lit up and she clapped her hands with glee. “Well, I could never argue with the thesis of a dedicated scholar. And ‘sunlit copper’ will be more lyrical when you compose passionate love poetry.”

“You’re having way too much fun with this,” Raven glowered. “Trust me; there will be no poetry. The last time I wrote a poem, I was sixteen years old, and the genre as a whole may never recover from the abuse inflicted upon it by my flailing attempts. Also and more importantly, there is no love to write _about.”_

The bard was unconvinced. “Oh, but why not?” she pouted. “He seems quite sweet. And the other night when he and your guard were sparring without their tunics, even Morrigan stopped to watch.” She raised an eyebrow with a sassy grin. “If nothing else, our journey certainly has its scenic moments, no?”

Raven felt her cheeks warming, and finally relented, joining Leliana in a fit of giggles. “You know, for a Chantry sister, you’re a terrible influence.”

Leliana snorted. “I was not _born_ in the Chantry…or _blind,_ for that matter. And besides,” she added primly, “part of being a bard is recognizing beauty when you see it, no?” She arched a brow and nodded toward Aedan and Alistair. “And Maker preserve us, I see it!”

The two women struggled to muffle their laughter, but Raven’s tension eased. It surprised her that Leliana was becoming a friend, but she supposed it shouldn’t have. Leliana was the kind of person who made things easier for others, even social interaction for a hardcore introvert. Raven knew that in Orlais, being a bard meant more than performing music, and the redhead’s soothing attentiveness had probably been a useful tool when her role involved acting as an assassin or spy. But she still enjoyed their developing friendship.

Although, she thought wryly, she could do without the teasing about Alistair.

“Leliana, be reasonable; I could never…,” she began with a sigh, but then a nervous peasant from Redcliffe approached, and further conversation was postponed.

________________________________________

“So who’s this Ben guy?” Rob asked quietly, nodding at the exhausted nobleman speaking to the Wardens. They stood inside the disheveled Redcliffe Chantry, leaning against one of the few walls not hosting cots or barrels of provisions. One corner was piled with pews; she wondered irreverently if they’d been tossed aside in protest when the Maker’s favor fled. Empty-eyed elders and frightened children decorated the sanctuary like tattered ribbons on a moth-eaten wedding dress, and the atmosphere of fatalism was thick in the air. The people of Redcliffe expected to die.

“It’s not Ben; it’s _Bann,”_ Raven corrected. “It’s a title. Leandra explained it; remember? Fereldan nobility goes: king and queen, then teyrns and teyrnas, then arls and arlessas, then banns. Ish. Anyway. Bann Teagan is the younger brother of the Arl we came to see. He’s trying to protect the village. And oh, he’s about to ask us to fight the zombie apocalypse.”

Rob blinked. “You’re joking,” he said flatly.

“Nope, not so much. Aedan needs the Arl, who’s in the Keep, which is sealed until the undead are…re-dead.”

“Actual, literal zombies. Like, slimy, half-rotted, all they wanna do is eat your brains, _zombies.”_

“I don’t remember this variety having specific menu preferences, but otherwise yeah, pretty much.”

“Nothing can ever be simple in this place, can it?”

Raven laughed. “Oh, you have no idea; we’re just getting started. I love role-playing games, but they do sometimes have a high run-around factor. ‘Hero! You must save the world! As your first step, please kill ten rats, and fetch me this thing I could easily have gotten myself if I bothered to get off my ass.’”

He grumbled his low opinion of demanding quest-givers. “So, zombies. Right. What happens next?”

Raven shrugged. “There are a few possibilities, but since Aedan is a noble and made a beeline here to see Arl Eamon, he’ll probably agree to defend the village. Teagan will tell him which locals can help prepare for nightfall. And Morrigan will bitch about being forced to expend an iota of energy on serving anyone besides herself, but that’s a given.”

Her brother snickered. “You _really_ don’t like her, do you? Is it because she’s hot and dresses like she’s for sale, or because she’s mean to your honey bear?”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, unamused. “No, it’s because she’s a terrible person. I _definitely_ don’t want to know your opinion on her hotness. And I have no honey bear, as you know quite well. Jackass.”

Of course, _of course,_ that would be the moment when Leliana wandered into earshot.

“Oh, the faithful guard has noticed it too, I see,” she smirked. “And it seems I was correct in assuming the closeness _you_ two share is _not_ due to romance.”

Rob recoiled. “What? No! Gross.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Raven said scathingly, secretly glad she’d planned for this eventual question. “I suppose there’s no harm now in admitting that Rob is my little brother.”

_“Admitting_ it. Like I’m an embarrassing rash.”

“More or less,” Raven agreed.

Leliana laughed. “But why keep it a secret?”

“We thought it would be safer. A shabby scholar with a guard seemed less tempting to bandits than a pair of wandering foreigners. And I wasn’t sure the Warden would let me come otherwise. He needs fighters, but I didn’t think he’d want a useless bookworm trying to tag along. With Rob as my _hireling,_ though, he had to bring me if he wanted Rob. So, yeah. I’ve tried really hard not to complain, and to help any way I can.”

The bard’s head tilted in thought. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense. But I do not think you are useless, and I am sure Aedan does not. You give yourself too little credit, my friend.” The scholar only shrugged awkwardly, twisting the end of her dark ponytail.

_“Thank_ you!” said Rob. “I’ve been telling her that for years, but in addition to being brilliant and amazing, she’s a ridiculously stubborn pain in the ass.”

“Is this why she is stubbornly refusing to admit her admiration for your new sparring partner?” Leliana’s face was calm, but her eyes danced with humor.

“Oh for the love of…seriously, both of you _stop_ it.” Raven had run out of patience. “I’m ever so glad you’ve both enjoyed teasing the shit out of me, but there is no breathless love story here. It would never happen, not in a million years. So _stop.”_

The bard’s expression cooled slightly. “I have wondered…are you nobility back in Markham? Is this why you cannot show favor to a Fereldan commoner?”

The brunette, incredulous, was startled into a mirthless laugh. “You _can’t_ be serious. You really think _that’s_ why I…” She shook her head tiredly, eyes shadowed with layers of old pain. “Listen. Even if we _weren’t_ just tagalongs here, and even if we weren’t in the middle of a _Blight,_ and even if I actually _belonged_ here…have you _seen_ him? Have you seen _me?_ The idea of us together is laughable. Anyone who noticed us would assume that either he was blind, or he was escorting a friend’s dumpy sister somewhere as a favor. People like _him_ don’t happen to people like _me.”_

She drew a shuddering breath, and brushed her hand across her eyes, angrily dashing away any hint of moisture before it could fall. “This is stupid and I’m done talking about it. We should find out what Aedan needs us to do instead of wasting time.”

Raven walked over toward the group near Bann Teagan, her spine stiff with tension. She pretended not to see Leliana’s look of surprised confusion or Rob’s sad sigh. It infuriated her that her feelings had escaped her control. It was bad enough when that happened under normal circumstances, but infinitely worse in a world that wasn’t even _real._

_‘Stop being so **stupid.** That is **enough** ,’ _she berated herself coldly. After her wayward feelings were safely resealed in her mental lockbox, she donned her armor of calm, ready to focus on the defense of Redcliffe.

________________________________________

The rest of the day passed quickly, as Aedan delegated aspects of their preparation. He and Alistair strode up the hill toward the Keep’s entrance, their armor gleaming in the sun. Ostensibly, their goal was to speak with the few knights Redcliffe had on hand, but it also served to cheer the villagers, knowing the fabled Grey Wardens had come to their aid.

Leliana went off to charm the blacksmith into repairing the militia’s armor. Hohaku chose to accompany her, as if he knew the presence of a Fereldan Mabari would reassure people about dealing with an Orlesian. Later, the hound’s keen senses made short work of locating a missing boy, to the relief of his older sister.

Sten set off to persuade a local dwarf and his two hirelings to join the defense. The huge Qunari needed no assistance to be thoroughly motivating.

Rob went with Morrigan to track down some missing militiamen; unsurprisingly, they were in the tavern. They also found a man who’d been watching Redcliffe for the traitor, Loghain. The spy agreed to help the militia in exchange for keeping his organs intact. Morrigan, for reasons unknown, convinced the barkeep to provide the militia with free ale, goaded him into joining the defense, and finally threatened the unpleasant little man to cede ownership of the tavern to the Warden. She seemed to find it amusing.

Raven, left at loose ends, took a moment to speak with the villagers, providing encouragement. Soon, though, she had to escape the smothering fear in the Chantry, and slipped out to explore the village.

Situated on the shore of vast Lake Calenhad, Redcliffe reminded her a bit of home – not its maze of wooden huts or the hulking keep perched atop the eponymous red cliffs, but the lake itself. The gently rippling waters spread into the distance as far as she could see, past shores dotted with tall evergreens. She inhaled deeply. The air held a damp, mossy scent with a hint of fish; the combination seemed like it should be unpleasant but somehow it was just peaceful and wild.

Raven grew up in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it town in the Midwest, near a vast lake much like this. She watched the beginning of sunset reflecting on the lapping waves, and wondered if she’d ever see home again.

________________________________________

On her way back to the Chantry, Raven ducked into the abandoned general store, and saw several barrels of lantern oil near the wall. She knew the knights could use the oil to create a fiery blockade. Luckily, there was still a little time; she hurried off to climb the hill.

Aedan and Alistair looked concerned at her approach, so she smiled to reassure them while she regained her breath. “I found some barrels of oil in town,” she said finally. “Might they be useful on your barriers…?”

The leader of Redcliffe’s knights nodded gratefully. “Oh! They will indeed. Many thanks, my lady.” Raven noticed the sun-shaped amulet the knight wore. Someone must’ve convinced the cranky old Chantry mother to give the knights a few blessed tokens to bolster their courage. _‘Whatever works,’_ she thought.

Aedan sent the knights off to fetch the oil. “It’s convenient that you’ve come, Lady Raven,” he said. “When you return, could you tell Rob and Morrigan they’re needed here?” He smirked at Alistair’s audible groan. “Sten, Leliana, and Hohaku should remain outside the Chantry with the militia.”

“And where should I be?”

“I’d like you inside the Chantry with the Bann,” Aedan said, his green eyes sliding away from her face.

Raven’s brows knit with irritation. “That’s unnecessary. I’m a good shot; I can stay in the back and still help.”

“No, Raven.” The Warden’s voice was stern. “We have enough untested militia as it is. I want you inside.”

“Aedan, no. Please don’t do this. I know I’m not much use, but I can’t just _sit_ there while people die outside!”

Alistair caught Aedan’s eye before he could continue the argument, and a small nod passed between them. Aedan went to check the barricades. Raven, busy being upset, belatedly realized Alistair was reaching toward her. Her eyes grew wide, and she froze.

“Lady Raven,” he began, taking her fingers gently between his gauntleted hands. “I know this is a difficult thing to ask. I wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t been sent off on a supposedly ‘safe’ task at Ostagar…but I hated it at the time. Sometimes I still do. But I would thank you for aiding Teagan.” His honey-brown eyes were on her face, and she couldn’t seem to form a reply, but he continued. “I grew up here, and most people didn’t bother showing kindness to a dead maid’s bastard son. But Teagan always did. I believe our plan is solid and we’ll succeed, but if not…if the Chantry is breached…” He took a breath; Raven belatedly remembered that was a thing humans did, and tried to gasp without resembling a dying fish. “Well. There are few people left in this world who I’d consider family, and it would comfort me to know that one of them has someone like you to watch his back.”

What could she possibly do then, except agree? He gave her a grateful smile, and she walked away scolding the flutters in her stomach.

________________________________________

Night had fallen. The silence in the Chantry was broken only by the soft voice of Mother Hannah speaking the Chant of Light over the fearful non-combatants. "Canticle of Trials, verse one,” she began.

Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
Many are those who rise up against me.  
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,  
Should they set themselves against me.

In the long hours of the night  
When hope has abandoned me,  
I still see the stars and know  
Your Light remains. [*]

The soothing words merely reminded Raven that she _couldn’t_ see the stars, or anything else. The high stained glass windows glowed faintly with moonlight, but obscured any glimpse of the world beyond.

“If you keep pacing, you’ll wear a hole in that carpet.”

Raven stopped short, startled by the Bann’s approach. They’d spoken earlier, but then he’d gone to do a last-minute briefing. She hadn’t noticed his return.

“I…I’m sorry, my lord…” She halted her steps and wrapped her arms around herself in embarrassment.

Bann Teagan chuckled. “It’s quite all right, my lady; I was merely jesting…at a completely inappropriate time. A bad habit of mine, I fear. And please, call me Teagan. If we’re to be comrades-in-arms, we can dispense with formality, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I…yes, my lor-, er, Teagan,” she replied with a small chuckle. It felt odd to abandon the Thedan speech patterns she’d been careful to mimic thus far, but it was a bit of a relief. “You should call me Raven, then.”

“I’ve always liked ravens, with their intelligence and dark beauty. The name suits you.”

_‘What?’_ Her Raven’s mind screeched to a halt and floundered before fumbling into her default ‘weird name explanation’ spiel. “Oh, it’s nothing that profound; my mother just really likes birds, so she named her children Raven, Robin, and Lark. My sister and I didn’t mind so much, but my brother always complained that robins aren’t manly enough.”

The bann laughed, his reddish-brown hair held back with a tiny braid that she’d always found silly in the game. Now, seeing him standing tall and strong before her in his impressive armor, she met his sparkling blue eyes and decided he didn’t look silly after all. She couldn’t help herself; she spoke the dialogue that led to a bit of entertaining flirtation with his computer self. Just for research purposes, of course.

“What about you, Teagan? Do you have any family?”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Are you asking if I’m married, my lady? I’m afraid I’ve never had the pleasure, though if I’d met someone as lovely as you, perhaps my answer might’ve been different.”

Raven swallowed, trying to reconcile her memories with this living, breathing human. In the game, Teagan was part of a computer program, designed to respond in a set way to specific prompts. But this Teagan was real…or at least as real as anything else here. He could reply however he wished. She couldn’t see any reason he’d say that to her; she didn’t know how to react.

Teagan read her silence as offense. “Please forgive my boldness, my lady. My words have run off with me again. If I blame the strain of our situation, would you promise not to be angry with me?”

She smiled reflexively. _‘Ah, that explains it,’_ she thought. _‘He was stressed out and not thinking. Obviously he didn’t mean any of that.’_ She focused on her relief that the world was making a bit of sense again. With long practice, she ignored the small voice in the back of her mind, with its scrapbook of wounds from each time she’d been found not pretty enough, or not thin enough, or just…not enough.

“There was no cause for offense, Teagan. It did just occur to me, though, that maybe we could put a few of these pews to good use in our defense?”

With help from the townsfolk, they rearranged the room to Raven’s satisfaction. A woman shyly approached Teagan then, and offered him the use of her family’s heirloom sword. Raven smiled, thinking of the version of the future where the bann would find that young lady again, fall in love, and marry her.

And then, they heard the fighting start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [*] This portion of the Chant of Light is from The World of Thedas, Volume 2, p. 65.
> 
> Oh, and the line "Slimy, half-rotted, all they wanna do is eat your brains, zombies.” is a nod to the awesome song "Re: Your Brains" by Jonathan Coulton; if you've never heard his work, it's hilarious.
> 
> Origins Leliana just seems like she'd be so fun to hang out with, doesn't she? But clearly our poor Raven is going to need some outside assistance with her post-breakup self-image issues. Hmm...
> 
> Hehe...“molten copper dipped in sunlight.” Dorkiness amuses me. See you all for the next chapter on Wednesday!


	8. Leading a Horse to Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rob finds there are certain upsides to battling a zombie horde. Dealing with a whiny noblewoman is not one of them. Also, mages are scary.

_‘She wasn’t kidding. We’ve been fighting honest to god zombies. **Zombies. Seriously.** This is my life now.’_

Rob slammed his shield into the creature in front of him, grunting with satisfaction when its bones crunched and it crumpled to the ground. Having learned his lesson earlier, he raised his sword and severed the corpse’s rotting head from its shoulders. _‘Should it bother me that I’m fine with doing that?’_ he wondered. The warrior glanced down at the zombie’s putrid remains, knowing that now it couldn’t hurt anyone else. He shrugged. _‘Meh. It doesn’t. Oh well.’_

Wearily, he scanned the area for another foe, and found none; Leliana had just neatly put an arrow into the last straggler’s eye. Rob sat heavily on a crate, wiping his arm across his brow to clear it of sweat and other things he’d rather not think about, and threw the redhead a congratulatory grin.

He, Aedan, Alistair, and Morrigan had come down to help the militia after they’d stemmed the tide of horrors up the hill. With the last enemies dead, Aedan was already checking their forces, noting any who needed healing, and delegating others to set up pyres to dispose of the remains. Rob approved. Whatever the man had been like before becoming a Warden, it was clearly in his blood to be a leader. He spoke briefly to the party about their lodgings and plans, and then sent Rob and Alistair to check the Chantry.

When Alistair made to pull open one of the huge doors, it didn’t budge. “They’ve barred it. Smart,” he noted, pleased. He pounded on the door. “Teagan! It’s Alistair. The fighting is over; open up!”

A heavy scraping noise signaled the bar’s removal, and Teagan called them in. Alistair frowned in confusion when the open door revealed a solid wall of wood with a narrow opening at the far side. With a shrug, the Warden edged into the building, blinking, and Rob heard his exclamation as he cleared the door.

As Rob followed, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, he heard movement to the right and saw Teagan sheathing his sword. Further in, Raven rose from behind the pew she’d been using for cover and lowered her crossbow. There was no sign of the villagers until Raven called out; then they boiled in from the far end of the Chantry, anxious for news. Alistair spoke, his voice easily carrying over the murmurs. “People of Redcliffe! The undead have been defeated! There have been a few injuries, but all of your brave defenders yet live. You are safe.”

Even as tired as he was, Rob couldn’t help but feel buoyed by the wave of elation that followed. Teagan was joyfully clapping Alistair on the shoulder as Raven joined them, beaming. “I would hug you,” she told Rob, “but you’re covered in ick.” He rolled his eyes. “I suppose I’m washable,” she laughed, flinging her arms around her brother. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Do all of us get hugs? I’m covered in the same ick he is,” Alistair said playfully. Raven froze like the proverbial deer in headlights before turning to give Alistair an awkward embrace. Her blush was so hot she could’ve doubled as a sunlamp. Rob tried valiantly to stifle his snickering, but Rae shot him a glare that made it clear he’d failed. He shrugged, unrepentant.

Alistair, who Rob decided was the poster child for being oblivious, gave the flustered woman a cheerful grin, then turned to the bann. “I’m glad your wall of pews wasn’t needed, Teagan, but it was a good idea.”

“Agreed, but it wasn’t mine. The lovely Lady Raven felt if we were the last line of defense, we should have a plan for it. She’s the one who suggested we bottleneck attackers and funnel them through a narrow opening.”

Impossibly, Raven colored further, though Rob couldn’t tell if it was from the praise of her plan or the smooth bann calling her lovely. He smirked. This zombie battle thing was starting to feel worthwhile.

“It was nothing, really,” she protested. “I’ve just play-er, _read about_ a few…um, scenarios where slowly channeling enemies into range of traps or weapons was an effective tactic. I thought it might help.”

Alistair’s gaze had swung back to Rae, full of surprise and approval. In an effort to prevent his sister from spontaneous combustion, Rob mentioned the party had been given rooms above the tavern, and Aedan wanted them to sleep as soon as possible so they could deal with the castle in the morning. Bann Teagan refused to keep them a minute longer after that, and shooed all three of them out.

They emerged onto the site of the battle, and Raven’s color flipped from red to green like a faulty string of Christmas lights. “Ohh…I see you were…all very busy.” She swallowed forcefully, glancing skyward.

“You okay?” Rob asked softly.

“I…yeah. I’ll…be fine,” she mumbled, looking for a clean spot to walk across the black and slimy ground.

Surprisingly, Alistair noticed her reticence. “Here, let me help.” Without further warning, the bronze-haired warden leaned over, placed his arms behind Raven’s back and beneath her knees, and plucked her off the ground. She literally squeaked, frantically clutching around his neck, her eyes blank with shock. He carried her over the mess without seeming effort, and set her down gently on the path toward the inn.

 _‘Show-off,’_ Rob thought, but only until he realized he needed to remind his sister to breathe. She stared up at the Warden like the train of her thoughts had not only derailed, but plummeted off a bridge into a lake full of jam. Rob elbowed her and she blinked. “Um,” she said intelligently.

“That was nice of you, Alistair,” Rob prompted.

“Yes! That! I…I mean…you didn’t have to…I’m much too heav—um. Yes. Anyway, thank you, Warden.”

Alistair laughed. “Come now, we’re all friends here, aren’t we? None of this stuffy title business.” With an air of solemnity only slightly ruined by the twitching at the corners of his mouth, he extended his hand to Raven. She took it nervously, and he bent and kissed the back of her hand with a comically broad flourish. “Eet ees seemply delightful to meet you, ma cherie,” he said, in a terrible Orlesian accent. “Ma name ees Comte Alistair Roquefort de Cheese. And you are?”

“Raven,” she giggled, disarmed by his silliness.

“Excellent,” he said with satisfaction. “And I’m glad we’ve established the friends bit, since I forgot my gauntlets were still covered with, as you so eloquently put it, ‘ick’…so now it’s probably on your hand. But we’re friends now, so you can’t be mad.”

Her nose wrinkled at the thought, and she gave him a mock-glare. “Ew. I suppose I’ll let it go this once, but only because we’re friends.” They both laughed.

 _‘Yes,’_ thought Rob with a broad grin. _‘Having to fight the zombie apocalypse was definitely worth it.’_

________________________________________

Late the next morning, the group reassembled on the hill, yawning and sore but blessedly free of ick. As Aedan and Teagan strategized, Alistair stood slightly apart, gazing silently at the intimidating stone fortress.

At breakfast earlier, Leliana had been alight with curiosity about Alistair’s childhood in Redcliffe. His answers, pleasant at first, had slowly become strained; Raven had noticed and deftly changed the subject. “Redcliffe has such fascinating history; did you know one of the only times it was ever conquered was by Ferelden’s first king? It’s a shame we don’t have more stories from that time.” Leliana, ever the bard, had immediately left off her questions and launched into tales of King Calenhad the Great. But evidently, Alistair’s troubled thoughts hadn’t left him.

Rob went to stand quietly beside him. “You know, it’s funny,” the Warden said after a moment. “Arl Eamon gave me a home here when I was a child, but the arlessa hated me and made me miserable. When I was ten, she finally got me sent away for Templar training, and I was miserable _there,_ and all I wanted was to be back _here._ Now here I am again, but everything is all wrong, and I almost wish we’d never come.” He glanced at Rob with a self-deprecating laugh. “Some people are just never satisfied, eh?”

“Alistair. You got a shitty deal as a kid, but in spite of that, you turned out to be a good guy who puts his life on the line to help people. That’s pretty amazing. And feeling upset, scared, or pissed off sometimes doesn’t make it any less amazing. It just makes you human.” Rob thought a moment, and then added with a snort, “I swear, you’re as bad as my sister.” A nod of his nod indicated Raven standing over by the others. “I keep telling her that having occasional feelings is okay, but she’s too stubborn to agree.”

Alistair blinked. “Your sister? But…I thought…”

“Oh, right,” Rob said, feigning chagrin at his accidental-on-purpose revelation. “You thought she was my boss; I forgot. Yeah, we told everyone that while we were traveling. Seemed safer to be a scholar with a hired guard than a couple of stupid Marcher kids wandering around unsupervised.” He shrugged with a grin. “Besides, she’s the oldest; she always thinks she’s my boss anyway. It wasn’t much of a stretch.”

“No, I kind of figured—actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter what I figured. Clearly I’m an idiot.” Alistair coughed in embarrassment. “Just don’t tell Morrigan I confessed to it; we wouldn’t want her to die of elation right before we have to assault the keep.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Rob laughed.

________________________________________

An opulently-dressed woman ran out of the castle, right into the midst of their planning session. She turned out to be Arlessa Isolde, the arl’s wife, and she trembled weepily like the world’s worst damsel stereotype. Rob disliked her immediately, but if he hadn’t, he certainly would've started to after she treated Alistair like extra-ripe roadkill. Raven’s hostile glare said she’d have been quite happy to backhand the sniveling woman right off the nearby cliff.

Isolde begged Teagan to come back to the castle with her – alone – but dodged any explanation of the situation or how she’d managed to escape. Raven spoke coldly into the silence that followed. “You know this is obviously a trap, right?”

Ultimately, after a flurry of discussion, Bann Teagan decided to return with the arlessa. Everyone _agreed_ it was a trap, but the bann hoped he’d be a distraction so part of their group could infiltrate the castle through a hidden tunnel. Once the gates were opened, the rest of the party could bring Redcliffe’s knights in to assist.

Rob’s estimation of the bann rose at that. During the defense of the village, he’d assumed Teagan was just a useless rich dude who expected others to protect him while he stayed safely indoors flirting with people’s sisters. But now, although he was well-aware he was walking into danger, he did it without hesitation. Huh.

After fending off the attack on the town, retaking the keep was almost easy by comparison. The only tense moment was when Aedan, Alistair, Morrigan, and Hohaku reached the courtyard. Rob watched through the heavy wooden gate as they came to open it…but of course, nothing could be that easy.

Skeletal archers creepily assembled themselves from the dirt, along with more zombies and a twisted undead parody of a knight he later learned was called a revenant. It had some weird magic that yanked everyone off their feet and into sword range. That was bad enough, but it also kept them from opening the gate or dealing with the archers. Alistair and Aedan did well enough, but Rob knew Morrigan’s miniscule scraps of fabric wouldn’t hold up long against flights of arrows. He punched the gate in impotent fury.

Leliana and Raven, on the other hand, calmly took action. They drew their weapons and fired through the holes in the gate, eliminating the skeletons in short order. Leliana paused then, hesitant to draw on the whirling melee around the revenant…but Raven’s crossbow could be loaded and held ready more easily. She aimed, and waited, and the next time the revenant knocked everyone down, she put a bolt in its neck. While it groped blindly at its throat, Aedan slid around to deliver a vicious backstab, and the fight was over.

Aedan was grinning at the two archers as he pushed the gate lever. “Thanks for the assist…and nice shot,” he said to Raven with a wink. He just laughed when Rae flung back a haughty reply:

“See, I _told_ you I could help.”

“Indeed, dear lady. I shall never doubt you again.”

“Oh, yes, one lucky shot from a safe distance, while others fight for their lives, is a _clear_ indication of a peerless warrior,” Morrigan scoffed. “Why, I’ve no doubt she can defeat the darkspawn single-handedly; the rest of us may as well scamper off to pick daisies.”

Rob rolled his eyes and smirked as the mage blatantly fished for compliments. Alistair was less amused. “Oh, _I’m_ sorry; were you threatened by the idea that you aren’t the center of all creation? If you feel _such_ a need to take up floral arranging, don’t let us stop you. We’ll struggle along somehow, aided only by Raven’s refreshing ability to be bright and charming, instead of being insufferably hateful like certain apostates.”

Trying to hide his amusement, Aedan intervened. “As entertaining as this is, nobody’s picking flowers just yet. We still have to find Bann Teagan and the arl.”

Grumbling, Alistair and Morrigan ceased bickering as they all headed in. Rob did, however, take time to nudge Rae and whisper, “Bright _and_ charming, huh?”

She smacked him, but it was totally worth it.

________________________________________

They’d found Bann Teagan easily enough. He was bouncing around like a fool, being mind-controlled by a demon that had possessed the arl’s son Connor. The arl had been poisoned on the orders of that asshole Loghain, and Eamon’s resulting illness had scared the young boy…and since he was a mage (surprise!), that led him to accept a demon’s aid to save his father.

A brief skirmish freed Teagan, at least, from the demon’s control. Connor, temporarily lucid, ran off to hide. The rest of the keep was secured. Facts were reviewed. The arlessa squirmed, and whined, and squirmed some more, and his sister’s usual steadfast calm finally ran out. Her rant was almost too quiet to hear, but every word held knives.

“Shut up, Isolde. Just _shut up._ If anyone has _no fucking right_ to an opinion here, it’s _you._ This whole nightmare is _your fault,_ because you’re a fucking _hypocrite._ You’re all about supporting the Chantry’s rules and showing off how pious you are, right up until it’s _your_ son who’s going to get taken away by the Templars. And then suddenly the rules don’t apply to _you.”_

 _“You_ chose to hide Connor’s magic. _You_ hired an apostate to tutor him…and, big shock, an escaped blood mage wasn’t teacher of the year. Eamon was poisoned by the tutor _you_ hired. And because of that, your untrained mage son…a _child,_ for fuck’s sake…got tricked into _hosting a fucking demon._ And – this is the best part – it raised its victims as undead puppets to go kill their own friends and neighbors. So many of them died last night that the ground was slick, because it _couldn’t soak up any more of their blood.”_

Raven paused, blue eyes sparking with fury. “I’m sure the Grey Wardens will do what they can to fix your mistakes. But whatever happens, you _remember_ this, Isolde; you remember this every time you see an empty bed or a fatherless child in this town, because those deaths are on _you._ If you pray hard enough, maybe the Maker will forgive your selfish hypocrisy. I don’t.”

Shaking, Raven turned and stalked out of the room, leaving a silence broken only by the arlessa’s sobs. 

________________________________________

Rob felt ill.

He’d barely listened as Aedan agreed to ask the Circle of Magi to help fix the kid. The mage who poisoned the arl had turned over a new leaf, and swore he could keep the kid under control until they got back. Teagan arranged rooms for them. Aedan told everyone to be ready to leave for Kinloch Hold in the morning.

None of that helped unwind the tangle of his thoughts.

Magic hadn’t bothered him much at first; it mostly seemed cool. Bethany Hawke’s healing spells were awesome. Elemental spells like fireballs were just a flashier kind of ranged weapon. Morrigan could weaken and confuse enemies, which weirded him out a little…until he equated them to things like tear gas or pepper spray. All in all, he’d taken it in stride.

And then he saw Teagan being mind-controlled into hopping around like an idiot. He heard Connor talking with a creepy-ass voice that wasn’t his own, because he was a mage and made a deal with a literal demon. Not in some dumb horror flick, but actually, really real.

The idea of some creature making him a prisoner in his own body freaked him right the fuck out; not only no, but _hell_ no. Suddenly he understood why some people here said magic was a curse. He went to find Raven to talk to her about it, but when he found her staring into space in the arl’s study, he remembered how upset she’d been. “Hey,” he called softly. “You okay?”

She rubbed a hand over her tired eyes. “Oh, hey. Yeah, I’m fine…as much as anybody else, I guess. Were they mad that I yelled at the arlessa?”

Rob snorted. “Hardly. Alistair tried to comfort her, and she quit blubbering just long enough to bitch at him. After that, Teagan and Aedan both ignored her; they seemed to think she deserved what she got.”

Raven smiled faintly, fidgeting with the silver chain she was holding. “I didn’t mean to go off like that. I mean, I was always annoyed by the arlessa when I played the game…not just how she was mean to Alistair when he was little, but how she tried to blame everyone else for her mistakes. But after last night, when all those people…” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. “I just couldn’t listen to her make excuses for that.”

“I don’t blame you. She should have followed her own damn rules. No wonder they send mages off to be locked up, when they can end up doing shit like _that.”_

Raven looked sharply at him. “No, that’s not the answer either. I mean, I get that this whole demon thing is messed up, believe me. And this all went to hell because Isolde decided to stick her fingers in her ears and go ‘lalala’ instead of sending Connor for training. But sending a kid to school shouldn’t be the same as sending them to life in prison. Think about Bethany Hawke. Should she be trapped in a tower, even though she’s never done anything wrong?”

Rob, troubled, wasn’t ready to answer that, so he changed the subject. “Well, if one of the books in that tower helps us get home, we won’t have to worry about it. Aedan says we’re leaving in the morning.”

“Good; I’m ready to get out of this place. Maybe we’ll get lucky and at least make it to the Circle without any more major malfunctions.”

“Dammit, Rae,” he laughed tiredly. “Why would you go and jinx it like that? Thanks a lot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isolde has always annoyed the hell out of me, as the many f-bombs may indicate. Telling her off was cathartic, lol.
> 
> Also, adorable dorks are adorable. :D


	9. The Eye of the Beholder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unlikely ally appears, and with his help, Raven deals with a variety of injuries, old and new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharp left turn ahead; please don't kill me. :D
> 
> NSFW. (Note the rating change.) If you prefer the story sans smut, you can find that [here](https://wp.me/p1p8rs-an).

Zevran Arainai had never been particularly good at planning. Assassination, yes. Planning, no. So, while it was disappointing that he’d failed to fulfill his contract to kill the Grey Wardens, it was not terribly surprising.

The mage he’d hired had been frozen solid by a sultry witch, and a Qunari with a giant sword had shattered her into a million glittering pieces before the woman had even cast a spell. Clearly, he had overpaid her.

His archers had fared little better, looking as if they’d upended their quivers and fallen on the contents, courtesy of a lithe redhead and an adorable brunette firing bows. When he’d moved on them, two strapping lads with shields had lunged at him in a fury. As a final irony, the last member of their party had appeared behind Zevran, a dagger at his throat. Even their dog was laughing at him. It was, frankly, embarrassing.

The blond elf sighed waiting for the death he had more or less expected. His captor…one of the two Wardens, naturally…growled, “We need to have a little chat.”

_‘Blast. So it is to be torture, then,’_ he thought. _‘How tedious.’_ Wearily eager to get the whole thing over with, he said, “Ah! So I’m to be interrogated. Let me save you some time.” And he told them everything.

A short time later, somewhat to his bemusement, he was settling into camp with the targets he’d failed to kill. It was not wholly without precedent; he’d charmed his way out of death before. But this time he’d left his employers to do so. The Antivan Crows all but ruled his homeland, and it was not because the assassin’s guild was forgiving; they _would_ send someone after him eventually. But, here amid this group of elite warriors, he set that aside as a concern for another day.

Around him, his new allies were tending their injuries. Nearly all were minor, though the pretty girl with the spectacles had to have an arrow removed from her upper left arm. She made little more than a muffled whimper as the bad-tempered witch used a tiny frost spell to numb the area and cut out the arrow, but her pallor and trembling hands suggested she’d been more affected than she let on. 

_‘Poor girl,’_ he thought. _‘I will offer to comfort her later. It’s the least I can do, after all.’_

________________________________________

After a day or two on the road, they had begun to relax around him…or at least, to eye him with less hostility. Surprisingly, the injured scholar, Raven, was the most cordial among them. He knew it was inevitable she would be drawn in by his charisma and good looks, but he _had_ expected it to take somewhat longer.

Zevran found himself in her tent soon enough…but only to tend her half-healed wound. Morrigan, the mage, had snapped that she’d already done her part, and everyone else was busy, so that left one idle elf to help out. The task was not without reward, however. The fascinating brunette reacted beautifully to his charm, giving playful replies, turning a delightful shade of pink, or sometimes both. It was quite entertaining.

“You know, ravens and crows are closely related. It must be a sign we are likewise fated to be entwined.”

“But you aren’t a Crow anymore. Alas, we can only wonder what our ‘entwined’ fate might have been.”

“I have many ideas about being entwined with you, my dear, but some are best delayed until your arm is fully healed,” he purred. “It would distress me greatly if our exertions caused you any harm.”

Raven’s laughter had a musical lilt, and her faint blush deepened the blue of her eyes in contrast. The elf smirked lazily. All in all, he could think of far worse ways to spend his time.

“Exertions? Whatever do you mean? Are we planning to participate in some sort of tournament now?”

“Hmm, that _is_ intriguing, but I believe these repressed Fereldans would be too scandalized to appreciate our performance as an exhibition sport. If you wish to train just in case, however, I would be delighted to assist.”

She grinned, giggling. “If I were studying innuendo, you’d be the trainer to call, I admit. It’s almost a shame you’re wasting such impressive talent on me.”

Amusement filled the elf’s hazel eyes. “I have many impressive talents I would be happy to use upon you; you have but to ask. And I am alone in a tent having a stimulating conversation with a lovely woman. How could that ever be a waste?”

“Oh, good grief,” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “All I meant was that I know I’m not anyone’s first choice to waste his best lines on. It’s fine; I was just making a joke.” She gave a self-deprecating smile.

Zevran frowned briefly. There were many things flitting unspoken beneath her words and, having little else to do, he decided to ferret them out. “Hmm…you may be right. I have never worried overmuch about the perils of bedding nobility, but since I do not wish any of our brawnier associates to crush my skull while I sleep…”

Raven snorted in exasperation. “Not _that_ again; I’m not even…ugh, you’re just being obtuse on purpose now.” With a glance of mild reproach, she started to rise.

The assassin caught her wrist, his free hand sliding up the arm still bared from tending her injury. Her skin was shockingly soft, he noted absently, as he met her surprised gaze. “I beg you to accept my apologies if I have offended, my dear. If I am misunderstanding something, perhaps you could explain?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.”

“Indeed I can. It is a skill I rarely use, I admit, but I _do_ possess the capability.”

“Ugh. You want it spelled out? Fine.” The music of her voice had fallen into a minor key that ached like an old bruise. “The reason I know you wouldn’t choose _me_ to flirt with is that _no one_ does. I’m not…tall, thin, and beautiful like Morrigan or Leliana. I’m a four-eyed bookworm who’s too short, too heavy, too…everything that no one wants.” Her eyes were fixed upon empty space, and she gave a short bark of something that wasn’t laughter. “I mean, the last person I loved cared so little for me that he couldn’t be bothered to dump me in person.” Angry that she’d said more than intended, she shook her head and tossed him a bitter glance. “So there that is. Clear enough now?”

“No,” he said simply.

Before her shocked glare led to words, he continued. “It is not clear why you have this misguided view of yourself. Nor why you think height and slimness are necessary components of beauty, as if stretching a starving peasant on a rack would produce a goddess.” She blinked, her mouth slightly agape, and he held her in his gaze. “There are as many exquisite women in the world as there are flowers in a meadow, little bird, and the delicate elegance of a lily does not diminish the lush sensuality of a rose. You are lovely, darling Raven. And trust me when I say that any man who fails to see that when it is before him is, quite simply, a fool.”

Raven hadn’t cried when the arrow was pulled from her arm, but at those words, a few silent tears slid down her cheeks. Zevran caught one as it skated over her satin skin. “Now now,” he said, the brazen glint returning to his eye, “when I planned to make you cry out for me, this was not at all what I had in mind.”

After a shaky laugh, she managed a bold reply. “We’ll have to work on that, then. I may need practice to get it perfect, though. I’ve always been an overachiever.”

________________________________________

Nearly a week later, they reached Kinloch Hold. The two Grey Wardens set out the next morning, sailing across the lake toward the Circle Tower, accompanied by the lively bard and the scholar’s handsome brother.

As they headed off, Raven urged them to take care, while Morrigan complained about being left behind. The lead Warden laughed. “Yes, of course,” Aedan said. “I should definitely take a scholar, an assassin, an apostate, and a Qunari to a tower full of nervous Templars. Whatever was I thinking?”

The scholar’s brother Rob grinned. “Change that last part to ‘walked into a bar,’ and you’d have the start of a great joke.” Alistair, the other Warden, snickered.

The prickly mage retreated in a huff into her tent on the edge of camp. The others left, followed by the merchant and his son who were visiting a friend near the docks, and the Qunari, who went to examine a place some of his former comrades had fallen in battle. It seemed rather morbid to Zevran, but as it left him alone with Raven, he was not inclined to object.

After that first conversation, Zevran had made it his mission to shower her with admiration. Appreciating beauty was his hobby, and endless walking was otherwise extremely dull. But keeping his sole focus on the lovely scholar also gave him the pleasure of combatting the wrongs other men had done to her. It was his responsibility as an Antivan, really.

The fact that it had made the bard glow with approval and the witch grumble with jealousy had only added to his amusement. And thus far, though both Rob and Alistair had bristled at some of his racier compliments, neither had hit him with anything other than the occasional glare. It had been a good week.

“So, my darling Raven, we are alone at last.” His eyebrow rose suggestively. “Shall I assist with your recovering injury as an excuse to remove your clothing, or shall we just skip the pretense?”

“What, with no sensual massage or naughty Antivan love poetry? How barbaric! Clearly you’ve been among the Fereldans too long, Zevran.” Her eyes laughed a challenge as he sat beside her near the fire pit.

“Oh, cruel woman, you cut me to the quick!” She leaned back against his chest, giggling. It was pleasant to see her growing more relaxed, losing the wounded look from behind her eyes. “Even so, I must admit you have a radiant smile,” he said, stroking her cheek.

She pretended to ponder. “Hmm…I’m not sure that counts as poetry, even with your charming accent.”

“Such a critic! How about, ‘I would willingly dive into your exquisite sapphire eyes, if I could emerge to rest upon the silken warmth of your alabaster skin.’” His breath skated over her ear with each word.

“Definitely better,” she breathed with a shiver.

“Marvelous; I trust that will be the first of many ways I please you today.” His purring voice dropped lower; Raven rolled her eyes at his roguish confidence, but moved to lay her head and shoulders in his lap.

“I suppose we’ll see, won’t we?” Her wicked smile required attention, so he ran his thumb over her lips…and was delighted when she gave a teasing nibble. He almost hated to delay things with conversation, but it was always best to be clear in these matters. And really, they had time.

“Tell me, my dear…if I may ask…other than the fool you mentioned, have others stoked your passion? Do you find pleasure to be a light-hearted pursuit, or something to be treated only with serious devotion?”

She looked up at him, amused. “Don’t worry, Zevran. I’m not some nervous innocent about to declare my undying love.” She chuckled wryly. “To be honest, I never saw myself that way even when I _was_ one. So many friends had paired off while I stayed alone, that eventually virginity felt less like a cherished treasure, and more like a depressing burden.” She blinked. “And I don’t know why I keep telling you things like that. I guess since you spent all week talking about my bosom, I’ve lost the ability to feel self-conscious.”

“What can I say? It is a very fine bosom, and merits frequent and ardent admiration.”

She rolled her eyes again, but the corner of her mouth quirked upward. “I can’t say my bosom minds being admired, so I won’t complain. But yes, to finish answering your question, I eventually found someone to fling myself at. When he quickly lost interest, I was sure it was because I was…bad at it. So, I started to study techniques and…why are you laughing at me?”

“I feel certain you are the first woman I have met who approached the art of lovemaking as a research project,” he chuckled. “I find it somehow fitting, however. It adds to your charm.”

“Yes, well.” Pink had flooded her cheeks again at his words. “It was less embarrassing than asking someone. But then I found…well, several people…to, ah, _practice_ with.” She looked pensive. “And it was fun. But after a while it just felt empty. I _want_ to view sex as more than recreation; that’s what I _thought_ I was doing with my ex. But right this moment, that’s not what I need.”

Her eyes were serious upon his. “I wasn’t great at thinking anyone would want me in the first place…so my last relationship pretty much broke me. Right now, I just want to feel…wanted? To feel…anything, really, so I can put all that behind me.”

A wry grin spilled across her face. “And when it comes to the perfect man for a rebound, I just know you’re one of the best possibilities this world has to offer.”

Zevran lazily smiled down at her, lost in thought as he traced the heart-shaped outline of her face. Born in a whorehouse, sold at auction, trained in killing…nothing in his experience had given him reason to see sex as more than a physical act. It had been different for a time, with Rinna…but much like Raven’s ex-lover, Zevran had thrown away the best thing he’d ever had. He had no illusions about who he was…but despite his profession, he’d never thought himself stupid or cruel. Then he’d been both, to the one who deserved it least.

Here, with the sable-haired woman whose yielding warmth filled his lap, he knew it was not love. But Raven needed to feel desired…and after Rinna, Zevran needed to find some speck of worth in his soul, some hint of the man he’d believed himself to be. Perhaps, in helping each other, they would help themselves.

They migrated into her tent out of the chill Fereldan wind, and slowly, he met her lips at last.

She was tense, he noticed…not reluctant, but perhaps nervous? “Are you comfortable, sweet Raven?” he purred against her neck, settling himself behind her. She shivered. He pressed his lips lightly to the skin just below her hairline to confirm her reaction, and her head tilted dizzily in response. _‘Oh, the little bird has a sensitive spot,’_ he thought with amusement.

He paused. “You didn’t answer the question, my dear.”

“I…um…” He watched the color creep over her profile. “Ah, what was the question, again?”

“I asked if you were comfortable,” he chuckled smugly. 

She laughed. “It would seem so, wouldn’t it?”

“Mmm,” he agreed. “I think I would like to release your lovely hair from its bindings, if you will permit me…?”

“My hair? Oh, sure, go ahead, if you want. My ex complained it was always in the way.”

“Yes, well, we have already established the man had all the wisdom of a novice pickpocket targeting a Crow grandmaster, so his opinion is hardly valid.”

“True,” she giggled, then sighed. “In fairness, I should say he wasn’t a terrible person. He just…didn’t love me. And he sucked at communicating that.”

The elf deftly unpinned her hair from its neat twist. “I see. And is the man here, perchance?”

“What? I mean, no, obviously, but…why do you ask?”

“If he is not here, I see no reason to be concerned that I might insult his delicate feelings, and every reason to accept the evidence before me that he was an idiot.”

Raven’s surprised laugh turned into a soft noise of bliss as he raked his fingers through her newly-freed curls. Her hair was a rich, earthy brown, surprisingly silken around his fingers. Unbound, it flowed nearly to her waist. “Your hair is so beautiful,” he breathed, massaging her scalp with strong fingers.

She turned to look at him, and his genuine wonder must have shown on his face, because she ducked her head bashfully, a small and delicate smile lighting her face. It made him pleased to have put it there, and sad that she seemed so unused to such admiration. 

He rubbed his face against her hair like a cat, inhaling its scent: rain and a hint of lilac, layered with the smoky traces of last night’s campfire. Every part of her he’d touched so far was velvet softness.

He wanted more.

________________________________________

“You mentioned massage earlier; as it happens, I am rather an expert. If you’re ready to remove this troublesome garment,” he said, fingers skimming her tunic, “I would be delighted to demonstrate.”

She froze a moment, then turned toward him and rose to her knees. “Yes,” she said simply. She bit her lip, but held his gaze boldly as she slowly pulled her tunic off.

Her position put her much-discussed bosom at eye level. _‘Mother of mercy, how could she have worried?’_ Zevran had to clear his throat to say, “Have I stated, perhaps, that your ex-lover was an utter buffoon? Because I have just discovered additional proof.”

She giggled delightedly. “Oh? What would that be?”

“It is clear that complimenting your bosom for a week is merely a fraction of the veneration it deserves.”

Spurred on by his reaction, with mischief in her eyes, she unfastened her breastband, holding it up with her other hand…and then with a smirk, she laid face-down on her bedroll. “So, massage, you said?”

He chuckled in surprise. “Why, you little minx! Very well, if it is a contest of temptation you desire, I accept your challenge. Though I feel I must warn you, I trained many years to remain stoic through even the fiercest torments, so I may have a _slight_ advantage.”

She gave him a sassy grin over her shoulder. “Guess I have my work cut out for me, then.”

And so it began. He sat astride her upper thighs to tease the tension from the graceful sweep of her spine, and she pressed the luscious curve of her posterior back against him. He slid down to stroke her shapely calves, and she twisted around to watch, her hair just barely concealing her chest. He shed his shirt and stretched out by her side, and she…well, she didn’t have to do anything then; the impossible softness of her skin against his torso was enough. _‘Score one point for the minx,’_ he thought lazily.

It must have given her courage; she rolled onto her right side to face him, and he was finally able to look upon her. At first, he didn’t notice her shy gaze; he was too busy admiring the contrast between the translucent paleness of her breasts and the deepening peach-pink of their tips. She veiled the soft swell of her stomach with one nervous hand; consciously or not, she still wanted to hide. He gently pulled her hand away, pressing it to his lips.

“My dearest Raven,” he said, voice full of truth, “you are beautiful. Your skin is a banquet of clouds, your eyes are shards of sky, your smile is radiant sunlight, and the dark cloak of your hair mirrors the rich promise of the earth in spring. Any man would be blessed by your embrace.” Her eyes welled with emotion, but before they could spill, he raised a suggestive brow. “And your bosom is spectacular.”

She exhaled a laugh, tucking her head beneath his chin, and he used it as an excuse to caress her back. Something about the texture of her skin, her hair, her lips…she was intoxicating, as if something about her body affected more than the usual number of senses.

Raven pulled back enough to meet his eyes. “I’m glad my bosom meets expectations, after all that buildup.” She looked speculative, then reached up to lightly trace the pointed edge of his ear. He shivered.

“I always wondered if it was true about elves having sensitive ears,” she grinned impishly.

“Indeed. Just as sensitive as certain spots on little Ravens.” He leaned in, nipping lightly where her neck met her shoulder, and she melted against him.

“No fair,” she mumbled.

“My dear,” he chuckled against her throat, “I am an assassin. Whatever led you to think I played fair?”

“Well, then, I guess I won’t either.” She arched up to lick her way around his ear, sometimes nibbling, sometimes teasing a cool breath of air across damp skin. Then, before he could recover from the fact that her texture of her tongue was just as potent as the rest of her, she nudged him onto his back. Her fingers trailed down his smooth, muscled torso, followed by her wicked mouth, and he was sure he was supposed to be doing something, but he couldn’t seem to care.

After she’d traced and nibbled his navel, she stopped. He looked down, and found her regarding him with a smoldering gaze…and one of the laces of his breeches in her teeth. A laugh was startled out of him. “Oh, little bird…for one who usually radiates innocence, you are _so_ not innocent.” Her pleased grin was followed by a quick toss of her head that pulled his laces loose.

“Never said I was,” she purred, rubbing her face against the press of him beneath the quickly loosening ties. In another moment, she had freed him from his clothing. And as dizzying as the texture of her swirling tongue had been as she mapped his torso, it reached a new level of magnitude when – with a sinful smile – she leaned down to envelop him.

After an indeterminate amount of time spent watching her surprisingly talented mouth, a growing sense of urgency dragged him from his haze. He frowned. Was he, Zevran Arainai, being out-seduced? Unacceptable. His stomach muscles rippled as he sat up, dislodging the now-unmasked siren from her task. She sat back on her knees and raised an eyebrow in question.

He definitely did _not_ notice the way her pale skin nearly glowed and her lips shone with wetness in the morning light that filtered through the tent walls. He was trained to resist torments of all kinds, even pleasant ones. He _would not_ get distracted.

Determined, Zevran rose to his knees in one fluid motion and slid around behind her. With an arm around the yielding softness of her waist, and his other hand tracing her collarbone, he murmured against her neck, “Now now, it isn’t very sportsmanlike to try to win our challenge without even giving me a turn.”

She chuckled huskily as she pressed her body back against his and bared her neck to his mouth. “I thought we agreed not to play fair?”

“Oh, we did,” he said, his fingers spiraling with melting slowness toward the taut peak of her breast. “And so now I am not. Unless my little bird has any objection?”

“No-ooh,” she gasped as his fingers reached their target. “No objections here.” His laugh was sinful.

The rogue’s agile fingers roamed the front of her body, higher at first, then edging lower with maddening slowness. As he nibbled and licked a path along her neck to her ear, he purred against her skin of all the things he would do to her. He doubted she understood the Antivan words, but given the way she swayed against him, their meaning was clear enough. 

When her knees grew weak, he guided her onto her back…and then he had to sample the nipples he’d teased so mercilessly. Her gasping moan in response spurred him to investigate what other sounds of pleasure he could coax from her. Soon enough, with his mouth at her breast and his clever fingers sliding down to stroke and enter her, her legs trembled and her hips arched up against his hand. Her cries peaked, then faded into breathless gasps.

It was a good start, he thought. So he replaced his hand with his mouth, and used his expert tongue to make her sing her pleasure for him again.

This time, when she could speak again, she tugged him up beside her. Clearing her throat, she said hoarsely, “All right, you wicked, wicked elf, I concede defeat. You have clearly out-tempted me.”

Perhaps his smile was a touch too smug, because a moment later, her hand was wrapped around his length. “Or,” she whispered against his pointed ear, “we could make it a tie.”

When he finally slid into her, they both groaned with overwhelming sensation. But that was silent compared to when, holding one of her legs against his chest and rubbing her core with his thumb, he brought her shrieking to climax, and followed with a guttural shout.

________________________________________

Afterward, as they rested with her head upon his shoulder, he smiled. “Feeling better now, little bird?”

“Actually, yes. Probably more from the conversation than the activity, but that definitely didn’t hurt.”

“Good,” he said in lazy satisfaction. And then he grinned. “You realize, of course, that Morrigan definitely had to overhear our…hm, conversation.”

She blushed, but feigned indifference. “So?”

Zevran couldn’t resist. “It seems unlikely, given their dislike for each other, but I hope she doesn’t give the wrong impression to young Alistair…now that you may be ready to admit how smitten you are.”

Raven glared at him. “Ugh, not you too?!?” she growled, and pulled a blanket over her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know that technically in the game's timeline, Zevran wouldn't have turned up until after the party handled Connor's little demon problem. But I bumped it up a bit for story flow reasons, and because Raven was starting to get depressing. ;)
> 
> Also, this is the first erotica I've written in...longer than I'd care to admit. It was surprisingly difficult to get back into, especially trying to use Zevran's POV (which was kind of tricky anyway). I may now have a permanent blush, lol.


	10. The Better Part of Valor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rob tries to wrap his Earth-shaped brain around the idea of demons, as the party addresses the troubles at Kinloch Hold. His thoughts get further tangled by a child, a memory, and a templar.

“So let me think now…hmm…a scholar, an assassin, an apostate, and a Qunari walk into a bar…” Rob pondered, as he, Aedan, Alistair, and Leliana drew nearer to the Lake Calenhad Docks.

Aedan snorted. “If the ones in the joke were anything like ours? The assassin would flirt with the scholar, the apostate would bitch about it, the Qunari would say, ‘And you wonder why my people sew mages’ mouths shut,’ and the apostate would set the building on fire.”

“And the scholar, having stopped to blush,” Leliana giggled, “would be standing outside looking at the flames and wondering what in the Void happened.”

Rob burst out laughing. “Sounds about right.”

Alistair muttered something under his breath. “What did you say, Alistair? I didn’t quite catch that.” Leliana spoke in such an innocent voice that Rob immediately knew she’d heard every word.

The bronze-haired Warden gave a dramatic disgusted sigh like a preteen girl getting sent to her room. He clearly would’ve preferred to ignore the question, but everyone had already learned the futility of trying to conceal something Leliana wanted to know.

“I saaaaiiddd,” he replied grumpily, with a mighty eye roll, “everything would have been fine if the assassin had shut his Maker-forsaken mouth for once.”

The bard’s blue eyes danced with mischief. “I see…and are we talking about the hypothetical assassin in the joke, or the one back at camp with Raven?”

“I’m _just saying,_ I’m still not terribly thrilled about him. ‘Yes, I _was_ a murderer hired to kill you, but let’s not dwell on the past,’” he mimicked in a ridiculous Antivan accent. “If Morrigan turns him into a toad before we get back, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Aedan nodded seriously. “I can understand why that would upset you. It would mark the first time in history that you and Morrigan agreed on something.”

“Oh look, we’re here,” Alistair said, with dryly false enthusiasm. “You know, it says a lot about the company I keep when I’m actually looking forward to charging into a possible nest of abominations.”

“That cuts me deep, Alistair,” Rob said, clutching his chest mournfully and struggling to keep a straight face. “It really does. Do you guys feel hurt? I feel hurt.” 

The other Warden glared at his companions as they burst out laughing. “I hate you all.”

Then they took the ferry to Kinloch, and it was a very long time before they had cause to laugh again. 

________________________________________

Rob had met enough hardass military types to know that Knight-Commander Greagoir wouldn’t appreciate their apostate joke. The guy looked like he’d need a detailed diagram and an hour of rehearsal to crack a smile, even on a good day.

And this was _not_ a good day.

The rumors they’d heard in Lothering were true; all was definitely not well with the Circle of Magi. The Knight-Commander had sealed the tower, waiting on permission to perform the Rite of Annulment…basically a fancy Chantry way to say “kill ‘em all and let the Maker sort ‘em out.” Rob already knew this, since Raven had given him the full run-down on the tower the night before. But it was still chilling to hear Greagoir say it. Even as creepy as demon-Connor had been, it was hard to imagine anyone would actually condone that kind of wholesale slaughter.

Aedan talked Greagoir into letting them try to clear the monsters out first, before resorting to the big “murder all mages” plan. Greagoir allowed it, but said the doors would be sealed behind them and not opened until they found the head wizard guy to give the all-clear.

The first thing he noticed after the templars locked them in was complete unnerving silence. No voices called out, no footsteps rang on the stone; even the fetid, stinking air seemed afraid to stir. As the Wardens moved and Rob could see something other than their backs, the reason for this became clear.

The long curved hallway was littered with bodies.

The robed corpses of mages lay in pools of congealed blood, their faces eternally locked in expressions of horror. Dead templars were strewn among them, swords scattered uselessly at their sides. Heads lay at unnatural angles, and one body ended abruptly at the shoulders. They searched the two large dormitories for survivors, but all they found among the rows of bunk beds was the stench of death.

“This is too cruel.” Leliana sounded troubled. “I would not subject even an animal to such a terrible fate.”

“Shutting the door and throwing away the key was definitely the templar ‘Plan B,’” Alistair replied grimly.

Candles still burned cheerfully, bringing out the rich crimson of the fine carpets adorning the stone floors. Trickles of sunlight still filtered in from windows near the vaulted ceilings several stories above their heads. In one room, an interrupted chess game sat waiting for players that would never return. It seemed almost obscene, as if no sign of life should dare to exist where so many lives were cut short.

Thankfully, in the next hallway, they found survivors. Just as they passed through the door, a gray-haired woman unleashed a huge blast of ice at a…at…

Rob’s brain stuttered to a halt, trying to process what he was seeing. The creature glared at the mage with eyes of glowing coal. It stood taller than a man, with a vague oozing body and long, claw-like arms. If a child sculpted a ghost from clay, it would look like this…except, you know, if the clay was lava.

Before he could wrap his brain around it, the mage’s ice spell hit the thing. With a hiss of steam and an unholy screech, it melted into a smoking puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West in a monsoon.

The mage, Wynne, was suspicious at first, but Aedan explained they weren’t the advance murder squad, so she chilled out and explained what went down. Some jackass colleague of hers decided a Blight was a great time for the mages to give the templars the big eff you. Then, in a stellar argument for their independence, a bunch of them immediately summoned demons and started killing everybody.

Rob leaned back against a stone pillar, only half listening. Raven had already given him the gist of it, and he was too busy trying to think through this whole mage-demon-templar thing.

Fighting the zombies in Redcliffe had been weird and gross, but at least they were still people-shaped. When it was over, he’d felt sorry for them; bad enough to die once without having to get up and do it again.

Demons were a different story. From all he’d heard and seen, they were monsters just waiting around for a mage to go bad – or even slightly screw up – so they could jump in and start a next-level shitstorm. In that sense, keeping mages in a central location where they could be watched and neutralized seemed logical.

He looked at the poor little kids the old lady, Wynne, had been guarding…knew Wynne had been busting her ass to save people…even thought about Bethany Hawke, who’d done nothing wrong. Raven was right in saying it wasn’t fair to lock them up.

But then he thought of Connor, no older than these kids. He wondered how even Bethany or Wynne could choose getting tortured or watching a loved one die, over accepting a demon’s help. If it was the only way to protect Raven, he honestly couldn’t say what _he’d_ do. He’d _like_ to think he’d have the brains to know a demon would only make things worse, but would he?

And when he pictured a whole group of mages, some gone bad, others frantic to protect themselves…? It made him sick to admit it, but Rob began to see why the Rite of Annulment might not be so unreasonable.

He was stirred from his dark thoughts by a light tugging on his gauntlet. A small girl with brown hair and delicately pointed ears stood nervously at his side.

“‘Scuse me, Ser Knight? Can I ask ye somefin’?”

“Uh, sure, kid. What do you need?”

She twisted her dark braid, huge hazel eyes darting around the room. Swallowing, she gathered up her courage. “Are the templars gonna kill us, Ser?”

Rob’s mouth went dry. The girl couldn’t be more than ten. How was he supposed to answer that?

When he didn’t reply right away, she chattered anxiously. “Wynne says she’ll save us, but savin’ people ain’t so easy, yeah? When the guard come to the alienage for me friend Sera (she din’t steal nuffin’, Ser, and anyway that stupid shem was askin’ for it), I tried to save ‘er. Sera said the git wouldn’t listen, that I should just clear off, but I…I just got _so mad_ and then there was fire everywhere and Sera screamed and…and then I woke up ‘ere. I don’t even ‘ave any friends yet and…and I don’t…I don’t wanna die wivvout any friends, Ser…”

The little elf’s eyes were liquid with unshed tears and more world-weariness than someone so young should bear. Rob couldn’t take it. He knelt and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Shanna, Ser.”

“That’s a nice name. Listen, Shanna, you seem pretty smart, like you’ve seen too much shi-, er, stuff to just swallow the easy answers. So I’m gonna be honest with you, okay?” She nodded, chewing her bottom lip. “There’s a lot of bad stuff going on, and I can’t promise for sure what’ll happen. But your Wynne seems pretty tough. Those two guys in the blue and silver armor are Grey Wardens, and they’re tough too. The pretty red-haired lady with the bow will help, and so will I. We’re going to go kill the monsters. As long as we can do that, and I think we can, then you’ll be okay.”

Rob took a deep breath, ignoring the dampness threatening his eyes. “And hey…I got a favor to ask you, okay? I haven’t been around here long, and I don’t have many friends yet either. Do you think you could be my friend? I only like really brave people, but I can tell you’re brave. And knowing I had a friend like that here would help a lot. What do you think?”

Shanna paused, considering. Rob swore inwardly as he belatedly realized a little girl on her own might question what an adult male meant by friendship. “All I want is somebody cheering us on against those monsters,” he clarified. “My big sister had to stay back at camp with her friend Zevran and the Warden’s dog. Zevran is an elf just like you.” He hid a smirk. _‘Well, he’s not **much** like you, but we’ll ignore that for now,’_ he thought. “Maybe when all this is done, they’ll all come here and you can meet them too.”

“The Warden has a dog?” The other kids had wandered over while they spoke, and one of the boys was wide-eyed with excitement. “I used to have a dog, but I had to leave him at home when the templars came.”

The other adults were observing the conversation as well. “I’ll have to bring my dog here to meet you when everything is settled,” Aedan said with a smile. “He’s a Mabari and his name is Hohaku. He’d like you; he loves having people to play fetch with.”

“You have a Mabari?!” The two boys drifted over to Aedan, excitedly chattering about the dog.

Shanna spoke softly. “Ser? I…um, we c’n be friends, yeah? An’ if…if somefin’ ‘appens…”

Rob nodded gravely. “If something happens to me, or if things don’t work out, then at least we’ll both have a friend.” She reached out her small fingers and solemnly shook his metal-clad hand. “Thank you, Shanna,” he said. “I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure nobody hurts my friend.”

“I believe you, Ser.”

________________________________________

Hours later, Rob was drenched with sweat, blood, and ichor from abominations, demons, blood mages, possessed templars, skeletons, zombies, and even another one of those revenant bastards like the one Raven shot back at Redcliffe. As much as he wasn’t fond of being jerked off his feet by the revenant, the worst foes had been the desire demons.

In the privacy of his own mind, he admitted that part of the problem was that the creatures were mostly naked and, despite the purple skin and weird horns, really hot. They had a distracting habit of stroking their torsos and writhing in a way that stole the blood from his brain. Wynne, a veteran mage, was used to fending off demons, and Alistair seemed mostly unfazed due to his templar training, but Aedan, Rob, and Leliana struggled. The demons sounded so _reasonable;_ it was annoyingly easy to start wondering what was so wrong with them wanting to make people happy...and, you know, dead, but why quibble over details, right?

Thankfully, Wynne kept them focused, along with healing all their wounds (regardless of his qualms about magic, Rob was still a big fan of healing spells). They cleared most of the tower, and even found more survivors – a few weird people Wynne called “tranquil” who talked in monotones, a reformed blood mage, and some idiot who’d locked himself in a closet. Despite the countless corpses and the nasty fleshy growths crawling up the walls as they ascended the tower, Rob started to think they might just get through this. 

And then they rounded a corner, and he remembered what Raven had warned him about. Despite his best efforts, he succumbed to the sloth demon’s slow, hypnotizing words. Along with the rest of the party, he slid to the floor in helpless slumber.

________________________________________

“Wake up, love; you’re going to be late,” a woman’s soft voice chided gently.

She sounded familiar, and he opened his eyes to meet a startling aquamarine gaze. “…Marian?”

Hawke smirked. “Nothing gets by you first thing in the morning, does it? Now, get up! You don’t want to be late for your first day as Guard Captain.”

Rob struggled to clear his sleep-fogged mind. “Guard Captain? But…I thought Raven…we were helping the Grey Wardens, and…” he trailed off in confusion.

Marian’s eyes grew pitying. “Did you have that old nightmare again? It’s okay, love. The Blight is over; you’re safe now, remember?”

And of course he remembered. The Wardens had ended the Blight, and Marian had come back to him. For his help, the President of Ferelden made him Guard Captain of Redcliffe. He stretched, smiling to see his fiancée clad only in his old shirt. Life was good.

He gave Marian’s hand a sharp tug, tumbling her into their bed. She shrieked, giggling. “Nightmares don’t matter when I have you to wake up to,” he grinned.

Her lips were warm and welcoming, and as he kissed her, he almost forgot what he was supposed to be doing. But then he lifted her off with a sigh. “You are tempting, sexy wife-to-be, but I probably shouldn’t get myself fired before I even start.” She laughed. Rising, he grabbed the remote and flicked on the Weather Channel. And did a double-take.

The TV was…not right. Its familiar flat, square shape hung on the wall, but it almost seemed like a window into another room instead of a broadcast. He shook his head. The pretty elf in the…picture…told him it was going to be sunny, as if she was speaking to him personally. Something about the elf tickled the edge of his mind…he’d made a promise to someone…a…kid?

But before he could think about it further, Marian stepped in front of him. “Focus, love… get your armor on. Your mom is making breakfast and she’ll be upset if you don’t have time to eat.” So, he complied.

A short while later, he sat in their sunny kitchen with Marian perched on his armored thigh, about to eat his mom’s famous French toast. “What time will you be home, Robin?” She smiled, the fine lines around her blue eyes crinkling. “Raven and Alistair wanted to come for dinner to celebrate your new job.”

He was about to remind her not to call him Robin, when she stuck the syrup in the microwave. Like the TV, it seemed…off. Rob watched her close the glass door and press the runes on its front. _‘Wait…runes?!?’_

“Well,” said Aedan, looking around at the strange furnishings. “This is…interesting. But I think that little elf girl might be disappointed if you gave up fighting in favor of a tasty breakfast. Oh, and when we get out of here, I think you and I will need to have a little chat…”

________________________________________

Rob came to in yet another place that didn’t exist; it was starting to become a habit, really. He now realized he was in the Fade, as Raven had warned him. The Fade was apparently somehow even less real than the fictional mage tower they’d been fighting in.

Aedan found the rest of the party, and they killed the asshole sloth demon to escape the Fade. Not a moment too soon; he felt. The way that thing pulled thoughts from his head shook him worse than anything else they’d seen in the tower. On the bright side, it was at least mildly amusing that the bastard had obviously been confused by Earth technology.

Nobody talked much as they continued through the rest of the tower; the enemies blurred together and they all fought mostly by muscle memory. He did get a little excited when they found some dragons…though it was disappointing that they were barely bigger than a Mabari. His surprise must’ve showed; Wynne smirked. “These are just babies; we keep them here for spell components. The grown-ups are…rather larger.”

The further they got, the more of the revolting flesh growths they passed, until finally they reached a room that was nearly covered with the putrid things. And then Rob’s attention sharpened, because the room also held a tall, shimmering cylinder of energy…and inside was a man. Rob knew immediately who he was.

“Save as many people as you can,” Raven had said, “But…as awful as this sounds, other than your team there are only two people in the tower who are essential. The mage who’ll join you is one. Since the mages are why we came here in the first place, I doubt Aedan will threaten them, so Wynne should be fine.”

“The other is the captured templar you’ll find at the top of the tower. He’s…going to seem kind of crazy, to be honest. But in the future he helps kill a tyrant and then commands the most vital army of the age. He _should_ be physically safe, but if our being here changed that, protect him however you can. His name is Cullen Rutherford, he’s the single most important person in the tower, and he _absolutely has to live.”_

Well, his sister would be glad Templar Goldilocks was among the living, but as far as him seeming crazy…she wasn’t wrong. Still, after dealing with the sloth demon, he cringed when the templar mentioned visions. Leliana said it looked like he’d been tortured and starved besides. And when he said there’d been more templars with him in the beginning and he was the last one left…suddenly there was a whole new context to the horrific mangled corpses displayed carefully on spikes in this Cullen guy’s line of sight.

_‘Jesus. Poor bastard. No wonder he’s mental.’_

He couldn’t blame the man for saying all the mages should die (though, judging by Alistair’s whispered conversation with Leliana, he found it pretty horrifying; apparently he’d been friends with the guy back in training). But Raven’s prediction was accurate, and Aedan insisted on seeing the situation before deciding. The templar didn’t like that, but all he could really do was sit tight in his little cage and hope for the best.

Rob almost wondered if Cullen was right…but then he remembered “I don’t wanna die wivvout any friends, Ser” and thought, _‘No, there’s got to be a better way.’_

He didn’t mind killing Uldred, though. The guy was an asshole even _before_ he turned into a giant fucking monster and started trying to wreck everyone’s day. That douchebag definitely had it coming.

Afterward, as they all stood gasping for breath, the wild-eyed templar dragged himself up the stairs. When he saw Uldred’s corpse he lunged forward, but as soon as he let go of the railing, he clattered to his armored knees. He flinched away when Alistair rushed over. The Grey Warden looked like a kicked puppy, but caught on when Rob walked over more slowly, with his hands out where Cullen could see them. “Here, man…let us give you a hand.” At Rob’s direction, Cullen warily laid his arms over their shoulders and let them bear him up.

They helped him over to Uldred’s body, and stood there for a long, silent moment. Finally, in a barely audible voice, Cullen asked, “Can it really be over?”

Alistair’s face twisted in anguish for his friend, but Rob just gave the templar a measuring look. “It is, but I imagine you might want to make sure. I’ll lend you my dagger, if you don’t try to use it on anyone else.”

Cullen laughed bitterly. “I couldn’t even get across the room without help. Do you really believe I’m foolish enough to attack a room full of fighters and mages?”

Rob gave a nod, and they helped the man kneel at the hulking demon’s side. With the last of his strength, Cullen slowly forced the dagger across the thick, armored skin of its neck, shaking and sweating with effort. Alistair started to offer help, but Rob waved him off; he sensed the templar needed that moment for himself. Cullen cleaned Rob’s dagger and gave it back, a muscle ticking in his jaw. Silent tears rolled unheeded down his cheeks, mirrored unabashedly by his copper-haired friend. Without a word, the three of them slowly descended the tower.

________________________________________

It turned out Knight-Commander Greagoir was, in fact, capable of smiling. First Enchanter Irving clasped the man’s arm gladly when the doors were unsealed, and despite Cullen’s warnings, the threat of Annulment was rescinded. The survivors slowly began treating their wounded and trying to get back to normal.

Little Shanna found him later, as he sat against a wall dumping a skin of water over his head. “You did it; you saved us!” she said joyfully.

Rob smiled and ruffled her hair. “I had a lot of help, pumpkin. Especially this brave friend of mine who was cheering me on; that made a big difference.”

She rolled her eyes and giggled, but stilled when she caught his serious look. “…really?”

“Yep. This big jerk of a demon tried to trick me into forgetting what I was supposed to do, but I thought, ‘No way, I promised my new friend I’d do my best.’”

The little elf’s eyes were even wider than normal. Rob wasn’t sure what made him continue to speak. “Listen, Shanna-bug…people might tell you that having magic makes you strong. Or maybe they’ll say being a mage or an elf means you _can’t_ be strong. That’s garbage. What makes you strong is choosing to be a good person, doing what’s right, and finding friends who do the same. Don’t ever let anybody tell you otherwise.”

She regarded him solemnly, and gave a decisive nod. Then, in a flurry of movement, she ducked forward and kissed his cheek before scampering off. Leliana was sitting nearby, and gave a weary chuckle. “Looks like someone has a new admirer.”

Rob shrugged, smiling. “Eh, she’ll forget me in five minutes. I just…it wasn’t right to leave her waiting in that room all hopeless, you know. A kid that little shouldn’t have to worry about being murdered, or any of the other shit that happened to her. It’s messed up.”

“I agree, and I think you were very sweet.”

“Shush; you’ll ruin my reputation as a jackass.”

Leliana just laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Doh, a day late on my update...forgive me? 
> 
> I had no plans for the character of Shanna, but she just popped up and demanded to be included, and now I love her. I also had fun imagining what demons from the Fade would make out of mental images of technology, held in the minds of people who rarely know how the tech actually works. And I'm super glad I found those bright spots because otherwise this chapter made me sad. Poor Cullen. :(
> 
> On the bright side, Raven gets to meet him next chapter, so there's that. :)
> 
> Just in case anyone's curious, click [here](https://anjelica-grey.tumblr.com/post/174006974711/some-companion-photos-to-chapter-10-of-my-current) for some companion screenshots, including a shot of our heroes storming the castle (Rob is taking the photo, of course), and our adorable little Shanna.


	11. In a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven tries to remember that she doesn't belong in Thedas. Everyone else tries to make her forget.

“So, you and the assassin, huh?” Rob raised an eyebrow at his sister, and she flushed guiltily.

“What?”

He rolled his eyes as he helped pack up their gear. “Come on, Rae. He’s been hitting on you like a freight train, and then I come back and you’re practically in his lap…not to mention, in a _much_ better mood. I’m no Sherlock, but I _think_ I can piece together the evidence.”

Raven let out a breath, giggling. “Okay, fine. What do you want me to say? It was a good day?”

He smirked. “Hey, as long as your good day stayed on your side of the tent, I won’t judge.” Raven felt her face heat again; life in Thedas was really ratcheting up her blushing quotient. “Although…I mean, you realize he doesn’t really seem like a relationship kind of guy, right? I just…don’t want to see you hurt again, especially when I’m not sure I can kick the guy’s ass.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” she reassured him with a laugh. “We’re not, like, dating or anything. It’s just…nice. To have someone look at me like I’m…worth looking at, I guess. Which sounds dumb, but there it is.”

“It’s not dumb. And,” he raised a brow, “only _‘nice,’_ huh? After all his big talk? Tsk tsk, that’s too bad.”

Her blush intensified, and she gave him a playful glare. “I am _not_ having this conversation.” After a pause, she added, “But for the sake of accuracy…it was more than nice. Incredible, maybe. Fantastic?” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Dare I say, orgasmic?”

“Ohhhhkay, I get the picture; no further adjectives required,” he laughed. She thought she had the upper hand, but he added, “Man, if Alistair didn’t have cause enough already, now he’s _really_ gonna hate the guy.”

Raven whacked him in the face with her pillow.

Once they settled again, Rob sobered. “We do have to talk about one other thing, though, and you won’t like it. Turns out that when some creepy-ass Fade demon pulls a fantasy from your head, and most of the stuff in your head is from Earth, it gets…interesting. Though, I have to admit, now that it’s over, it _is_ kind of funny. The TV was just a window into the next room with some elf telling me the weather, and Mom was using a microwave made with runes. It was bizarre.”

“Hm,” said Raven. “And how was Marian?”

“Fine, she seemed norm-, hey!” he glared. 

Her grin was unrepentant. “You deserved it.

“Hmph. Anyway, I didn’t fully snap out of it until Aedan turned up, like you said.”

Raven paled. “Well…shit. I take it Aedan saw this dubious Earthlike technology?”

“Yep. And said we’d, and I quote, ‘need to have a little chat’ about it later.”

“Fabulous. Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll forget.” Rob snorted, and she sighed. “If not, we just have to give the least amount of information possible. We come from a realm beyond the Fade, we don’t know how we got here, and though Thedas exists as a sort of story in our world, we only know some things that _might_ happen, not what _will_ happen.”

“Okay, but the big reveal is _definitely_ your area.”

Raven glanced at him as she finished buckling up her pack. “Aedan and Alistair are going to want to leave for Redcliffe right away, and I have to stay here to see what I can dig up about getting home…”

“Right, but…”

“So, Aedan will probably talk to you about it on the way to Redcliffe.” She winced, waiting.

“You’re _not_ seriously expecting me to go with them and leave you here _alone?!_ Raven, come on, that’s crazy! What if something else happens, like…like we missed a blood mage or something? The game might not _show_ it, but that doesn’t prove it’s _safe!_ Or what if you find the way home right away, and I’m not here?”

“Rob. I guarantee the Circle Tower is the currently the safest place in Thedas. The templars are on alert, and the few mages left won’t risk annulment. As far as finding the answer…you’ve seen the size of that library, and the shape it’s in. A lot of the books probably aren’t even in English. Even if there’s someone left alive who can help me, it won’t be quick. And in the meantime, we still need to monitor events in Redcliffe.”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You’re just looking for an excuse to avoid that bitch Isolde.”

Raven huffed a laugh. “That’s not the _reason,_ but it _is_ a perk.” She paused in thought for a moment before making sure the tent was closed. “While we have a second, though, I need to show you something.” Pulling her phone out, she flicked to a list of files.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Probably the most dangerous collection of knowledge in Thedas, to be honest,” she said wryly. “Back when I was moving a lot, I switched to e-books; they’re a hell of a lot easier to pack. So, because I also have a slightly unhealthy obsession with this game, I have every related thing ever released.” He whistled, raising an eyebrow, and she nodded. “I want to copy the files to your phone, so we both have them in case something happens to one of us- er, our phones.” He caught her slip and his face darkened with worry, but she shook it off. “I’m going to start writing them out into a journal too, just in case we end up…well. Just in case.”

He dug out his phone and started transferring the files. Quietly, he said, “My vacation leave is up tomorrow.”

Her worried eyes searched his. “I’ll do everything I can to figure this out, I swear. You know I will.”

“I know.”

________________________________________

Raven, Rob, and Zevran watched the boatman navigate the small ferry to the mage tower’s dock. Hohaku sat at Rob’s feet, and he idly scratched the dog behind the ears. “The kids can’t wait to meet you, boy,” he said.

“Kids?” Raven asked, unconsciously mirroring the Mabari’s curious head tilt.

Her brother shrugged awkwardly. “Yeah, that mage lady, Wynne, was guarding some kids when we found her. I got talking to them to chill them out. One of ‘em had a dog back home and Aedan said he’d bring Hohaku to visit after.” He glanced down at the dog. “They were pretty impressed he had a Mabari.”

The dog woofed, as if to say, “Of course they were.”

“Those poor kids have seen way more shit than any kid should have to,” he said. “It’s not right.”

Raven frowned. “That’s one of a long list of things wrong with how mages are treated, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe so, but I’d keep that opinion to yourself if you run into your boy Captain Goldilocks. Not that I blame him; that bastard Uldred really did a number on him. If he doesn’t have PTSD, I’ll eat my boots.”

“If I did not know better,” Zevran interjected as they disembarked, “I would suspect you of speaking in code, my friend. Who is this Captain Gold Locks, with his…devious bee?”

Rob and Raven burst out laughing. The elf could be so quiet when he chose that they’d almost forgotten he was there. “No no, he’s talking about a templar who’s…ah, a friend of the family. I asked Rob to look for him. His name isn’t Goldilocks; he just has blond hair – golden locks. Rob thinks he’s funny.”

“No, I _know_ I’m _hilarious.”_

She ignored him. “And PTSD stands for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s…something I studied once. People might get it after a war or some other terrible event, with nightmares and flashbacks and stuff.”

The assassin nodded. “Yes, the Crows know of this.”

“Oh? What do they call it?”

He snorted. “Life. Unless it distracts you at an inopportune moment; then they call it death.” After the siblings fell into an awkward silence, Zevran continued, “The Crows torture their recruits. If a man survives this with his sanity intact, he will be prepared for anything he may face afterward. Or so the masters claim.” He shrugged. “Perhaps they simply enjoy a concert of screams during their evening meal.”

Raven halted on the path up to the tower entrance, and turned to him with quiet horror filling her eyes. “Zev, that’s terrible. I’m so sorry you went through that.” She wrapped him tightly in her arms, wishing she could comfort the helpless child he’d once been.

He stroked her back with a gentle hand. “Truly, little bird, you need not sorrow for me; I am at peace with what I am. I did not tell you this to cause you pain.” He gave her a roguish wink. “Though I will never turn away the embrace of a beautiful woman.”

At that moment, Hohaku gave a happy bark and raced up the remainder of the path, while Rob smothered a snicker. “Oh look,” he said, “our welcoming party.” Raven glanced over Zevran’s shoulder…and saw Leliana with eyebrows lifted to her hairline in lurid curiosity, Aedan hiding a smirk, and Alistair looking oddly like he’d swallowed a live fish that got stuck halfway down.

She jumped back, instantly turning scarlet and feeling guilty for reasons she didn’t care to consider. “Oh, good! Hello, everyone!” she called with forced gaiety. “Congratulations on not being dead!”

_‘Oh fucksticks, I did **not** just say that. I am an idiot.’_

Aedan knelt to greet the Mabari, chuckling. “Why, thank you; I was pleased with that outcome myself.”

“Yes, certainly,” Leliana chimed in. “I far prefer remaining among the living, don’t you, Alistair?”

“What?” he blinked. “Uh, yes. Definitely. Dying bad, living good, and so forth.” He shuffled his feet, looking so awkward that Raven nearly ran to hug him.

Which, of course, would not do at all. It was one thing for Zevran to be interested; that could’ve just been because she was present, had a pulse, and (unlike Morrigan) didn’t threaten to remove any anatomy he touched her with. But even in the unlikely event that Zevran was right in saying other men would feel the same…she was trying to go home. She knew Alistair’s feelings weren’t casual. Even if she were arrogant enough to assume he’d want her, she wasn’t cruel enough to start something and leave.

So, if Alistair thought she was with Zevran, that was probably for the best. Yes, for the best. Definitely. Taking the surprised elf’s hand, she led him up the path…sticking close to his side, and trying to feel happy about her oh-so-rational decision.

________________________________________

“So, how was bedding Zevran?”

Raven gasped in horrified embarrassment, nearly dropping the books she was helping to reshelve. “Leliana! Good grief, you did _not_ just ask me that.”

The redhead pretended to consider. “No, no, I’m quite sure I did. I was right here, after all. Why; is it such a terrible question? Surely a man who claims all that experience can’t have been so disappointing?”

The scholar’s voice was muffled behind her hands, as she vainly attempted to hide her blush. “I don’t know who’s nosier; you or my brother.”

“Oh, that’s easy. I am, certainly. Though I am a bit surprised I did not see this coming. It’s always pleasant to be complimented, to be sure, but I did not think Zevran would steal your fancy from our dear Alistair.”

“I don’t have a fancy to steal. I just…I had a bad breakup not long ago, and it was nice to feel wanted.”

“I see…and how wanted _were_ you, exactly?”

The bard’s impish gaze managed, as always, to melt her reserve. “Quite wanted, I’d say. It was a long day, and we were bored.” Giving in, she leaned close to her friend and gossiped, giggling. Unfortunately, she failed to notice right away when Leliana sat back abruptly, because she was too busy saying, “Seriously, it’s a pity he doesn’t shut up more often, because all the other things he does with his mouth are much more fun.”

Leliana looked past her and said, “Hello, Alistair.”

Raven couldn’t help it; she slumped forward, clunking her skull on the table. She only looked up, rubbing her forehead with a glare, when the other woman said, “I should go pack up my gear; please excuse me.”

Alistair sat gingerly on the chair Leliana had vacated, nodding awkwardly in greeting. After a long moment, he said, “So…quite a lot of books here, hm?”

She blinked, as he winced. “They do tend to pile up, what with it being a library and all.”

“Yes. Quite.”

The cricket noises were probably her imagination.

“Can I…did…er, was there something you needed?”

“Oh! Um, yes, actually. I, ah, heard that you are planning to stay here while we escort the mages to Redcliffe. Is that right?”

Raven nodded. “They need all the help they can get here, especially with the library, and it’s probably better for me to do something I’m good at instead of slowing you all down like I usually do.”

“You don’t slow us down,” Alistair frowned. “In fact, I find it rather amazing how you went from life in a library to racing around the countryside shooting monsters in the eye for me- er, _us. With_ us, I mean.”

“You do?” She blushed.

“Well, I…that is, yes.” He blushed too. Raven’s pulse raced at the sublime dorkiness of it all, until she remembered that she was going home, and _not, not, absolutely **not**_ flirting with Alistair Theirin.

She cleared her throat. “So, what was it you needed?”

His face went completely blank, his honey-colored eyes wide with confusion. “Oh, right! How silly of me, ha…ha…” He coughed. “It’s, I was hoping you could do a favor for me, actually.” She kept her brow from lifting suggestively through sheer force of will. “When we cleared out the tower, we rescued a templar. He’d been…ah, tortured. As it happens, I know him from when I was a templar recruit. He’s a good man.”

“Yes! I _knew_ the two of you must have been in training together!” she said triumphantly.

“…what?”

Raven kicked herself. “Um…Rob told me about the templar, and that you knew him…and I saw him in the infirmary…and I…thought you looked the same age, so you might have trained together,” she finished lamely.

“Yes. Well.” The Warden looked at her if she might have hit her head on the table harder than he thought, but continued. “Anyhow, the experience seems to have changed him…understandably, of course. But I’m worried about him. As much as I hated the Order, he truly believed in it and its ideals.” He gave her a rueful smile. “On the few occasions I bothered to listen to the Chant instead of daydreaming, I always thought Cullen must’ve been what Andraste had in mind when she blessed the Champions of the Just.”

Privately, Raven thought of the life Cullen had ahead of him and agreed. “He sounds like a good friend.”

Alistair chuckled. “I certainly got in a lot less trouble because of him. Of course, he got in a lot _more_ trouble because of _me,_ so he might feel differently. The point is, the Cullen _I_ know would’ve fought to save every last innocent person in that tower. _This_ Cullen argued _for_ the Rite of Annulment even _after_ the blood mages were dead. It isn’t like him.” He ran a hand through hair that glinted gold in the thin light slanting through the library’s high windows. “I don’t really know what it is that I’m asking you to do, to be honest. I don’t know if there’s anything you _can_ do. I just…maybe if he would talk to someone, if he could get some of that hatred out, he could…be _Cullen_ again…”

Impulsively, she placed her hands over his where they fidgeted on the tabletop. “Alistair, he may never be the same as the Cullen you knew; you do understand that? I’ve studied how trauma can affect the mind.” She had, actually; her mother was a therapist, so a lot of school projects over the years had used her as a source. And with a brother in the Marines and a world always at risk of war, PTSD had become a pet research topic. “You should know it’s unlikely Cullen will go right back to normal. It could take years, if ever.”

The Warden nodded slowly, his golden eyes clouding, and he was so sad and beautiful it broke her heart. “I’ll do everything possible, though. If he’ll talk to me, I’ll listen, and help him any way I can. I promise.”

He looked at her, eyes full of gratitude as he grasped her hands. In its ongoing campaign to destroy her equilibrium, the sun chose that moment to enter the tall windows at the perfect angle to bathe him in light. His hair was a tapestry of precious metals, his eyes glowed with warmth against the gilded tan of his skin, and of course, his armor glinted. He was _literally_ a knight in shining armor. _‘Really, sun? **Really?** '_

The moment passed, and they both came to the sudden realization they were holding hands. Alistair reluctantly released her and stood. “I, uh…should go see what our plans are. I thought the First Enchanter would need some time to recover, but he’s worried about Redcliffe and doesn’t want to delay.”

Raven nodded and said she’d be along shortly to bid everyone farewell, and the tall Warden strode off, continuing to be more attractive than any person had a right to be. And then, for the third time in a half hour, she had the life nearly startled out of her when a small voice piped up and said, “Izzat yer boyfriend, then?”

The small elven girl leaning against a nearby bookshelf calmly took a bite of an apple and watched the scholar turn red. “Ah, no. No, he’s not.”

The girl’s dark brows knitted together. “Why? ‘E’s awful pretty, and ‘e likes ye so much ‘e kin barely talk.”

Rae hid her face in her hand. “It’s complicated,” she muttered, wondering if Leliana had recruited the girl to tease her, or if she was just that unlucky.

“Shems,” the girl snorted in disgust, as if that said it all.

________________________________________

Not long after, Raven and the elf girl (who her brother introduced as Shanna) stood in the foyer with those about to depart. Greagoir seemed to disapprove of both allowing the mages to go, and allowing Raven to stay, but that might’ve been his normal expression. Rob gave her a tense hug and solemnly asked Shanna to take good care of his sister. Aedan called Hohaku to his side as they prepared to set out.

To everyone’s surprise, the dog walked calmly over to Raven and sat on her foot. Aedan’s green eyes grew wide. “I see how it is…abandoning me for a pretty face, eh?” With the disconcerting intelligence unique to Mabari, Hohaku walked over to the Warden, licked his hand, and then returned to Raven’s side. Aedan couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, Lady Raven, it appears you’ve gained a temporary bodyguard.”

“So it seems. Or else he knows he’s more likely to get treats and games of fetch from the children here than on the road.” The dog gave her a reproachful glance. “Sorry!” she giggled, and waved as the others left.

Only later did she realize she’d forgotten to kiss Zevran goodbye. _‘Oops. So much for my pretend boyfriend.’_

________________________________________

Once the bustle had died down, Raven decided to check on Cullen, her two self-appointed guardians at her heels. As he lay in fitful slumber, his familiar face was so young…and far too gaunt. “Looks like them bad mages sent ‘im through a wringer the wrong way,” Shanna said, and Hohaku woofed softly in agreement.

Lost in thought, Raven could only nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I expected to have more Cullen in this chapter, but Raven and Alistair spent so much time being dorks that I didn't have room. Something to look forward to for next time, though. :D


	12. What Doesn’t Kill You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen tries to lock down his emotions after the trauma he suffered in the uprising at Kinloch Hold. A woman, a girl, and a dog do their best not to let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The beginning of this chapter includes a reference to sexual trauma. The description is not terribly specific or explicit, but I wanted to give a heads-up. If you would prefer to skip this, you can pick up after the first break.

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn,” Alistair said. “You obviously can’t keep your eyes off her. Andraste’s _ass,_ Cullen, she may be a mage, but she’s still a _person_ …you could at least go _talk_ to her.”

He dared to look, and couldn’t stop; Solona Amell was as beautiful as she was forbidden. He went to her, to explain it was his commitment to duty and not a lack of admiration that kept him away…but then, shockingly, she kissed him. Time blurred, and she was bare beneath his hands, her mouth was everywhere…she was astride his hips…the blood sang in his veins, and he was so close to spilling over with pleasure…

And her flesh bubbled and twisted, swelling into a hideous mockery of her former self. The abomination, for that is what she’d become, laughed cruelly as she writhed atop him. “What’s wrong, Cullen? Don’t you want me now?” And she’d brought him so close to the edge that it was too late to stop it, even as he retched and burned with revulsion and shame.

And then, just like so many times before, it all faded, and he was locked in his glowing prison with the desire demon. She gave him an obscene smile while she stroked the mangled flesh of his dead comrades. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know,” she said, her purple skin glistening in the rosy light of his cage. “Just say the word, templar, and I will give you all you desire. You are so beautiful, so fierce in your lust…please, my darling, let me make you happy.”

His face was wet with despair, but he clung doggedly to the bloody shreds of his strength. “Never, demon,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I will die first.”

The demon sighed sadly, her impressive chest flexing with the gesture. “Very well; if you insist…”

Alistair sat beside him. “I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn,” he said.

________________________________________

Before his nightmare could begin again, a huge, furry shape landed on him, licking his face and crushing the breath from his chest. Cullen erupted from sleep with a strangled cry, to see an extreme close-up of a wet black nose, a large pink tongue, and a pair of intelligent eyes full of canine concern.

“Hohaku, what are you doing?!” a woman’s voice cried in dismay. Clearly unapologetic, the dog gave Cullen’s face another friendly lick before hopping off the bed. A woman hovered beside him, her heart-shaped face full of anxiety, her blue eyes wide with concern, and, oddly, her nose smudged liberally with ink. “I’m so sorry; I don’t know what got into him,” she fussed, and then glared at the dog. “He knows you need rest.”

Cullen was utterly nonplussed. He was in an unfamiliar bed, he had no idea how he’d gotten there, and a strange woman and a dog had apparently been watching him sleep. He frowned, trying to remember…

The mage uprising. The slaughter. The demon. Abruptly it all came back to him, and the blood drained from his face. His heart sped up, and the walls of the room were too close, he was trapped again, trapped…

“Cullen,” the woman said in her soft voice. “Stay with me, okay? There’s a painting on the wall. Can you take a deep breath and tell me what’s in the picture?”

The nonsensical question brought him up short, his brows knitting in confusion. “I…I can’t…” He gripped the bedclothes to keep his hands from shaking and tried to focus. The painting was a lake – a small, quiet pond, with a couple of ducks floating on it. The sun was setting, the light reflected in the water. It reminded him a bit of the pond near Honnleath where he’d spent time as a boy. He described the scene, and found himself matching her slow, even breaths.

 _‘Maker, what a fool I must look,’_ he thought, waiting for the strange woman to mock his fear along with all his other failures. But, for the moment at least, her voice held only concern.

“Better?”

“Er, yes, I’m…I’m fine.” And then, because he was all wrong-footed, he blurted, “Who are you?”

Embarrassed, she laid her hand over her face for a moment, unwittingly adding to her collection of ink smudges. “Right, sorry; I’m an idiot. Nothing puts you at ease like waking up without your clothes and finding some creeper watching you sleep, right?”

With that, he abruptly realized he wore only his smallclothes. Horrified, he glared at the woman, clutching the sheet to his torso. “What have you done to me? Why are you keeping me here?” he accused, voice shaking, torn between the need to hide and the need to escape.

“Whoa, hold on a second. Ugh, this was _not_ how I wanted this to go.” Before he could think on that odd remark, she continued. “Let’s start at the beginning. We’re in a room near the infirmary. After you made it down to speak to Knight-Commander Greagoir, you collapsed. You were brought here and stripped so Wynne could heal your injuries, of which there were many.” The woman gave him an oddly stern look. “She said it was amazing you’d been conscious at all, by the way, so don’t go criticizing yourself for passing out.”

“She healed some of the cuts and burns, and set all the broken bones, and they gave you lyrium to counteract the withdrawals you were having.” She frowned at that, for reasons he couldn’t guess. “Now you just need time, to heal and recover from starvation and sleep deprivation. So, that covers where you are and why you’re nak- um,” she blinked, glancing at the ceiling. “I mean, where your clothes, er…why you aren’t wearing your armor,” she finished in a rush.

“As for who I am…you remember who found you, right? The Grey Wardens, Aedan and Alistair?” He nodded, trying not to flinch at his friend’s name; he couldn’t blame Alistair for the demon using his image, but…it was difficult. The woman continued. “They were with a warrior…tall, short dark hair, eyes like mine?” Cullen nodded again; he certainly remembered the only person among them who had understood how badly he needed to see Uldred dead. “That guy is my brother Rob. I’m Raven. The rude Mabari is Hohaku.” The dog gave a soft woof of protest at her scowl.

“So, why I’m here…the rest of our group had to rush off to Redcliffe. I’m a scholar, and stayed to do some research. Alistair asked me to help with your recovery if I could, and Wynne told me to make sure you don’t overdo it. So, here I am. Everything make sense now?”

Cullen blinked and took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax, and finally said, “…I suppose so?”

A small voice full of giggles piped up from the foot of his bed. “’E ain’t ‘ardly awake an’ yer talkin’ ‘is poor ear off, Lady Raven.” Cullen jumped and swore at the sight of a pair of hazel, almond-shaped eyes peeking through the bedframe. “All ye gotta say is, ‘Oi templar, ye was ‘urt, ye got ‘ealed, but ye gotta rest, an’ I’m gonna make ya.’” A girl rose and perched on the foot of his bed, eating a pear. With her mouth half full, she added, “An’ ye should say, ‘Me ‘elpers is this girl Shanna an’ this ‘ere furball, an’ they’re very smart.’”

Raven rolled her eyes skyward. “Yes, well, would one of my very smart helpers please go to the kitchens and get some broth for Cullen? Preferably the helper with hands. No offense, Hohaku.” The dog’s tongue lolled out as if he were laughing. Shanna hopped off the bed and strolled out the door, the Mabari at her heel. “And don’t steal any more food when you’re up there,” the scholar called after her.

She turned back to Cullen with a smile and a shrug. They were now alone and his discomfort grew, though he reminded himself the woman was apparently only here to aid him. He cleared his throat. “So then, do you know where my, ah…my clothes are? I’d like to dress.”

“I’m not sure you should do that.”

 _‘What? Surely she can’t mean to keep me like this?’_ His shoulders tensed again. “Wh...why won't you let me have my clothes?”

“Oh! No, that’s not…it’s just that your skin will be sensitive where you were hurt; fabric might irritate it.”

Ah. He was _not_ going to tell this woman he needed to get up to relieve himself. “I’ll risk it.” With a nod, she pulled a lightweight tunic and sleeping trousers from a chest, and gave him a measuring look. “What?”

Raven sighed. “I already know what your answer will be…but Wynne said you’d be weak at first. That you might need help getting up and…doing things.”

“What?” he gaped, bristling at the implication that he couldn’t manage the simplest of tasks. “No! That is…no thank you, that’s unnecessary. I’ll be fine.”

With a resigned look, she handed him the clothes and stepped out, shutting the door quietly behind her.

As soon as he moved, he understood her warning. His body ached everywhere, and there was scarcely an inch of skin free from the signs of his ordeal. His hands shook as he got his arms into the tunic, hissing in pain as the cloth slid down over his abraded flesh. By the time he slid his legs off the side of the bed and, after a few false starts, got his feet into the trousers, he was sweating with effort. But he managed it, and when he finally stood, it was with a smug sense of having proved the woman’s concerns baseless.

And then his legs gave out, and he crashed to the floor.

By the speed with which she reached him, she must have been right outside the door. _‘Waiting for me to fail,’_ he thought bitterly. The rug he’d fallen on was blessedly thick, but his body still reeled from the impact. She rushed to his side, making as if to grab him to help him up. “Don’t touch me!” he spat, panicked.

Raven recoiled, her face registering hurt for only a brief moment, but he saw. _‘Yes, fine behavior, Rutherford. Yell at the woman who’s done nothing but help you, no matter how little you deserve it. Well done; very honorable.’_

Somehow, she again chose not to rebuke him. “I’m so sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I should have asked before I reached out like that.” Cullen blinked, confused by her apology. “I would like to help you up,” she continued, in her soft, soothing voice. “Would that be okay?”

He tried to rise on his own, and could not. Burning with shame, he nodded, and she knelt beside him, pulling his arm over her shoulder and helping him stand. He stopped her as she tried to help him into bed. “I don’t want…I have to…” he colored, stammering to a halt.

Understanding dawned. “You need to use the, um…the water closet?” He nodded, looking away. “There’s a chamber pot here; you can use that or the water closet down the hall. You’ll need my help either way. The hall is further to walk, but you’ll have more privacy.”

“Water closet.” The idea of a woman ‘helping’ him use a chamber pot was too humiliating to contemplate.

Raven nodded, unsurprised; she settled the templar’s arm over her shoulders and guided him through the door. _‘At least she’s a convenient height for a crutch,’_ he grumbled inwardly. _‘And sturdy, for a woman.’_

That train of thought proved to be an immediate mistake; he noticed the softness of her body pressed to his side. With drowning suddenness, he was lost in the feelings from his nightmares; he _wanted_ her, and wanted to _run_ from her. The inexplicable urges were both bewildering, and so powerful he stumbled.

The scholar helped him to lean against the wall to rest a moment, her blue eyes searching. At least she looked nothing like the Solona of his nightmares. Blue eyes, not green. Solona was tall, thin, and delicate; her face and robes were always immaculate, and her golden hair was always braided into some intricate design. Raven was shorter; her head barely reached his chin. Her hair was a deep shade of brown, in a messy and slightly crooked ponytail, a good match for the ink staining her face and sleeves. And though she was not by any means grotesque, she was all soft rounded curves…laid over a frame of iron. Solona smelled like magic. Raven just smelled like ink and rain.

“Are you all right?” she asked softly.

Cullen snorted at the stupidity of her question; he was about as far from all right as he could possibly be. The shreds of his old self lectured him. _‘She’s trying to help you. Don’t be more of an ass than you have to be.’_ To deflect, he griped. “Just weak. No doubt that mage didn’t want to waste precious mana on healing a wretched templar.” The sneer felt wrong on his face.

She took a step back from him, hands on her hips. After all the opportunities she’d had to berate him, he was surprised _this_ was what triggered it. “No. Uh-uh. We’re nipping this in the bud right now. You listen to me, Cullen Stanton Rutherford. ‘That mage,’ as you so dismissively put it, was Wynne. She was trapped in the tower for just as many weeks as you were. She had very little food, since she gave most of the provisions she could find to the children she saved. She’s not young, but even after protecting those kids for weeks, she still fought her way up to you. She listened to you say every mage in the tower should be murdered ‘just in case.’ And after _all that,_ when you collapsed in the foyer, she _never hesitated to heal you.”_

“She worked on and off through the rest of that day and into the next morning, barely stopping to rest, eat, or drink anything besides lyrium potions. She was still working on you when I got here, because she said she’d never seen anyone have that many different injuries and still be alive. And after she set every broken bone, and healed every internal injury, and treated the worst burns and cuts, even after she was near to collapsing herself, the _only_ reason she _stopped_ was to _save_ you.”

“You know why? I didn’t, so I asked. Turns out that healing uses the mage’s mana to instruct a body to repair itself, but it takes energy from the patient’s body to actually do the repairs. And because you were so weak from what that bastard did to you, if she’d have healed you any _more,_ you’d have died from _that.”_ Her eyes were flashing with anger and her cheeks held bright spots of color. “So you’d better thank your lucky stars ‘that mage’ was so skilled, or we wouldn’t be having this conversation. _Because you’d be dead.”_

He stared at her, mouth hanging open, through her whole tirade. And suddenly it all came crashing down on him, how close he’d been to death. To his horror, tears began to leak from his eyes as his back slid down the wall, leaving him sitting on the cold stone floor.

Raven was instantly stricken. “Oh god, Cullen, I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to yell; I just…I wanted you to know…ugh, never mind for now.” She sat facing the wall, her knees off to one side as she studied his face. “I want to hug you. Is that okay?” She bit her lip.

Upsetting her again didn’t seem worth the energy. He shrugged, trying to regain control of himself.

Carefully, she leaned forward and put her arms around his shoulders, bringing his face to rest in the curve of her neck as she rubbed gentle circles on his back. Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he’d been held like that; he’d left for templar training at thirteen, so it was what, over seven years since his mother hugged him goodbye? At that association, his reserve broke. He clutched her to him, sobbing silently into her shoulder. The only sound in the empty hallway was her soft voice humming a gentle, soothing melody.

________________________________________

Broth was disgusting, especially when he couldn’t even eat it by himself. The odd little scholar held the bowl steady while poring over a huge old book in her lap. At least he managed the spoon on his own.

It helped not at all that the cheeky little elf girl was perched on the end of his bed again, chewing on a piece of dried meat that smelled divine. She’d given half to the huge dog lying across Cullen’s feet. Grumbling at either of them had absolutely no effect.

Raven, noting his mumble of aggravation, looked up. “Shanna, did you speak to Petra earlier like I asked?”

The girl sighed. “Yeah. Weren’t ‘alf miser’ble findin’ ‘er in all that mess, but I did. An’ what does she do? Tells me Lady Leorah an’ a bunch of ‘er people made it; locked in ‘er storeroom if ye can believe it…an’ she’s gonna ‘ave a class in the mornin’.” She snorted. “An’ then Petra gives me a _book_ to read fer it.” Her hazel eyes held mockery and another emotion Cullen couldn’t put his finger on.

“What’s wrong with that?" Raven asked. "Is the book boring? Or complicated? Too long, maybe?”

Shanna gave a short huff of laughter. “Could be, but I’d ‘ave to be able to read it to say, yeah?”

The scholar's eyes filled with distress. “Oh, Shanna-bug…no one ever taught you to read?”

“Lotta schools fer alienage brats in Den’rim, ye 'fink?”

With an air of determination, Raven set her own book aside. She did the same with Cullen’s empty bowl (after giving him a glance of approval, presumably for the mighty achievement of feeding himself a bit of soup). “Well,” she said with a smile, “everyone should be able to read, so Cullen and I will have to teach you.”

The templar and the girl looked at each other skeptically. “Right,” said Shanna. “Right up top onna templar’s to-do list, innit?”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. The conversation had made clear to him something he should have sensed earlier; the child was an apprentice mage, and could easily have been corrupted during the uprising. He had no intention of allowing her to stay…not to mention he was a templar, not a tutor. “I think not.”

Raven gave them both a _look._ He couldn’t understand how one simple glance could say ‘You are being foolish and should rethink your life choices immediately,’ but hers did. He glared at the wall. He would not be made to feel like a petulant child for trying to do his duty.

“Shanna,” she said in a tone so sweet that it was clear they were in trouble, “are you saying you’d rather go to class and have a bunch of shems think they’re smarter than you?” The girl folded her arms over her chest and looked down sullenly. “And Cullen, I know templars are well-educated. Are you saying you can’t make time to help a child learn to enjoy books, due to your busy schedule of resting and broth-eating?”

 _‘Andraste’s sword, what a frustrating woman.’_ He glowered, unrelenting. “She’s a mage,” he growled, making it clear this was a full summary of the issue.

“Yes, very astute of you,” she said mildly. “And you are a templar. How fortunate for an innocent civilian like me that you’re here to protect me from the terrifying illiteracy of this ten-year-old child.” Before either the man or the child could protest further, she moved to the room’s small table. “Let’s see the book, Shanna.”

________________________________________

Cullen jerked upright out of another nightmare, his heart racing. The Mabari give a soft growl of warning as the templar struggled to find reality, and he realized with shock that he was grasping Shanna’s small arm in one hand and her throat with the other. Her eyes were wide and scared, and he let go with a horrified gasp.

“Maker, I…are you all right?”

The girl coughed, rubbing her neck. Her hands were shaking. “Yeah…yeah, ‘m fine. It’s me own fault. Lady Raven, she _said_ not to touch ye, but it seemed like ye was havin’ a bad dream, an’ I…” She shook her head, catching one of her dark braids and twisting it in her fingers. “I just wanted to ‘elp,” she said, her voice small.

Cullen was appalled. He’d thought he’d reached the depths of his failure as a templar, but now he’d attacked a child. He couldn’t look away from the faint red mark on her pale throat, and the knowledge of what he’d almost done.

The Mabari rose from his place on Cullen’s feet, and walked up the mattress along his side. When he reached the templar’s face, he gave him a long, assessing look…before giving his cheek a lick, then turning to do the same to Shanna. The child gave a shaky giggle, wiping her face and scratching the dog behind his ears. Hohaku gave a quiet contented woof and lay down, snuggled against Cullen’s torso.

The hound’s solid presence was calming, and Cullen was able to meet the little girl’s eyes over Hohaku’s head. “My apologies, Shanna,” he said quietly. “I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

The elf shrugged with the admirable resilience of youth. “Don't fret, Ser. Ye din’t know." She changed the subject. "Lady Raven, she went to the kitchens to ask ‘em to send our supper. An’ to the library,” she scowled, “to get a slate an’ chalk. An’ more books fer me...an’ ‘erself …an’ prob’ly you too, because why not? She’s keen enough on ‘em; prob’ly wants the ‘ole library passed out.”

“Once you can read, you'll understand. A good book can hold an entire world, with dragons, heroes, griffons…anything you can imagine.” Her small face held an expression of such stubborn skepticism that Cullen nearly chuckled. “Here, let me see your book.” Reluctantly, she handed it over. “‘Martha's Adventures in the Fade,’ hmm?” He flipped through the pages of the simple children’s book. Apart from the ridiculously sanitized drawings of demons, it wasn’t bad; it gave mage children an introduction to dangers they’d face without traumatizing them. Of course, this child had already seen demons firsthand…but still.

Cullen sat up, his back to the wall, and the Mabari shifted to lie at his hip. Patting the bed on the other side of the dog, he said, “Come, we’ll take a look at this while we wait for Lady Raven to return.”

Shanna gave him a doubtful look, reminding him forcefully of his baby sister Rosalie. She’d been the patsy for her older siblings’ mischief until she got old enough to start questioning their motives, with a suspicious frown just like that. Cullen’s laugh felt rusty and strange, but good. “Come on now, I’ll read it to you and you can follow along. Consider it my penance for nearly throttling you in my sleep.”

“Wasn’t yer fault, I said,” she muttered, but she climbed up beside the dog. Cullen laid the book across the animal’s broad back, and began to read.

When Raven returned a short while later, she smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Cullen...you poor miserable thing. I feel like a big meanie writing you through all that, but I blame Bioware.
> 
> On the bright side, Shanna continues to be awesome; I'm glad she was so insistent about poking her head into this tale. And Hohaku isn't above a little Canus Ex Machina when the situation calls for it, like any good Mabari. At least the end of the chapter makes me happy. :)


	13. Louder Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warden has questions, and he's not the only one.

“So, that university in Markham…that’s where you’re from, you said? Did they invent those…unique home décor choices I saw in your Fade dream?"

Rob closed his eyes for a moment, before glancing at Aedan. The Grey Warden’s expression was calm but expectant. _‘Well, that didn’t take long,’_ he thought.

It was their first full day out of Kinloch, and other than the merchant and his son who planned to meet up with them that evening, the rest of the party was on the road ahead. Alistair set an easy pace in consideration for the still-weary Circle mages, even though it allowed both Leliana and Zevran the leisure to pester him endlessly. Behind them, Irving and his two assistants chatted with Wynne. Morrigan stayed close to interject snide remarks, while Sten watched all the mages with deep distrust.

Rob and Aedan brought up the rear. At least they weren’t likely to be overheard, he supposed.

“Ha, yeah, pretty crazy what kind of weird stuff that demon came up with, huh?” Aedan just raised an eyebrow. _‘Worth a shot,’_ the warrior groaned inwardly. “Fine, I’ll explain…but you’re not gonna believe me.”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

Rob took a deep breath. “So, the reason for the weird stuff that demon bastard stole out of my head is that I’m not _from_ here.” The Warden opened his mouth as if to speak, but Rob cut him off. “And by _here,_ I don’t mean _Ferelden,_ I mean _Thedas.”_

That got the Warden’s full attention.

“…what?”

"Me and my sister – oh right, I should mention Rae’s not my boss; she’s just my bossy sister – anyway we’re from a place called Earth. About three weeks ago, we woke up near Lothering with no idea how we got there, or how to get back. Not my best day ever, to be honest. That’s why Rae wanted to stay back at Kinloch; she’s trying to research what happened.”

The skepticism was plain on Aedan’s face. “You’re from a place called ‘Dirt’…sorry, ’Earth.’ And it’s…what? Another realm? A weird place like the Fade? A different world entirely?”

“Beats the hell outta me. My sister’s the one who figures shit out. I just do what I’m told.” Aedan gave an incredulous snort, and Rob laughed. “Scoff all you want, but truth is truth. Nobody is more confused about this than I am.”

“Okay, let’s say for a moment that I believe you. So the odd contraption the older lady in your Fade vision was using was some strange kind of magic?”

“The demon thought so, but only because it didn’t understand how stuff worked, and screwed it all up. We don’t have magic. We use…ah, machines, I guess would be the best way to explain it. Like, you know how a crossbow uses levers to do something that would usually take a lot more work? Our machines are like that, but…more complicated. The things you saw were the demon’s interpretation of machines we use to keep food cold, or make it hot.”

The Warden scratched his chin beneath his dark goatee while he pondered this. _‘Please,’_ thought Rob, _‘let him focus on Earth and not Thedas…’_

But of course, it was futile to hope for such a huge blind spot from someone as sharp as Aedan. “So if you’re from some world without magic, why did Raven want to research at the Circle Tower? For that matter, why did you even join me in the first place?”

The warrior rubbed his forehead, trying to remember how Raven had explained things to Marian. “Believe it or not, this is the weirder part,” he chuckled weakly. 

________________________________________

After a half hour or so of questions, most of which were answered with, “I dunno; you’d have to ask my sister,” Aedan finally fell silent. Hesitantly, Rob asked, “So…are we good, or do you think I’m batshit crazy?”

Aedan glanced thoughtfully at Rob. “I don’t see what bats have to do with it, but you’re definitely crazy. But I believe you. It’s far too bizarre to be made up.”

“No joke,” Rob snorted. “You…do understand why we want to keep it secret, right?”

“Because people would think you possessed or mad? Yes, I can see how that would be inconvenient.” The man’s usual sarcasm was present, but muted. “I will need to give this more thought, however. If you’ll excuse me?” With a nod, the Warden sped up, striding toward the front of the group.

Rob wasn’t alone for long before Alistair fell back to join him. “Andraste’s knickers,” he grumbled, “I didn’t think I’d ever have reason to be _glad_ I grew up an orphan, but if Leliana is what a big sister is like, maybe I’m better off. At least the arl’s horses and hounds didn’t poke at me with constant questions about everything under the sun while some unnecessary elf stood around making jokes.”

Rob burst out laughing. “I can tell you from personal experience that it’s actually a lot worse. On one hand, a real sister doesn’t _have_ to ask as many questions, because she already knows everything. But on the other hand, a sister doesn’t have to ask because she _already knows everything._ And the worst part is that her advice is usually _right.”_

Alistair tilted his head. “Is Raven so difficult, then?”

“Heh. Not always; sometimes she sleeps.”

The Warden laughed. “I can’t picture that at all, the way she looks after everyone, and always seems so sweet…ah, calm, she seems calm, I meant.”

“Right. Calm, you meant.” Rob’s nostrils twitched as he tried not to snicker; Alistair was as subtle as a fifty foot billboard, and obviously thought of Rae as some gentle nurturing damsel. It showed how little he’d gotten to know her. Getting tossed out of her element and into Thedas had unsettled her, sure, but she was still herself underneath. Rob smirked at the idea of anyone treating his sister as docile and powerless. No matter how much she thought Alistair was dreamy, if he tried that she’d clock him upside the head within a day. 

“I guess she’s usually calm…but it’s mainly because she’s analyzing fifty different things at the same time to figure out what makes everyone tick. Some people play chess with pawns; my sister plays chess with life. It’s a damn good thing she’s a decent person, because she’d make a really vicious villain.”

Alistair looked confused as he tried and failed to integrate that statement with his mental image. Rob decided to cut the guy some slack. “Anyway…I’m sure she’s not sorry to be missing out on Redcliffe Round Two. You grew up as a…stableboy there, you said? What was it like before all this?”

A shadow passed through the man’s eyes for a brief second, before the jester mask snapped back into place. _‘Hiding feelings with humor,’_ Rob thought. _‘Ugh, no wonder he and Rae get along. If they ever do hook up, they’ll have five tons of emotional baggage and a world-renowned stand-up comedy routine.’_

“You’ve met Isolde,” Alistair said dryly. “She’d be the first to tell you that her humility is surpassed only by her charm.”

“Really?” Rob deadpanned. “Because I thought she was kind of an obnoxious bitch, myself.”

Alistair laughed. “And yet, I was the one who got to sleep in the kennels. Ironic, isn’t it? But it really wasn’t all _that_ terrible. Before Isolde came along, Eamon and Teagan were kind enough. And afterward…well, the beasts didn’t throw great birthday parties, but they were excellent listeners. And pillows. And they weren’t Isolde, so that was a major point in their favor.”

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he relented. “To be fair, the woman was at the end of her rather limited wits. The gossip when Eamon married her was brutal; some people even accused her of being an Orlesian spy.” At Rob’s snort of skepticism, he smirked. “What, you don’t think she could be shrewd and sneaky? Maybe that’s part of her devious master plan! Step one: marry arl, step two: sentence bastard child to life of misery, step three: victory for Orlais, muahaha?”

“Sounds about as logical as her other plans.”

“No argument there. At any rate, she shipped me off to the monastery at Bournshire, where I went on to be a spectacularly mediocre templar recruit until Duncan rescued me from my horrid fate.”

“Is that how you knew that templar at the Circle?”

The Warden’s golden eyes darkened. “Cullen, yes. All my life, everyone’s seen me as a bastard. Nobles act like I’m not good enough for them, and commoners act like I think _I’m_ too good for _them._ But Cullen…he just saw Alistair.” He looked away, fidgeting with one of his gauntlets. “Maker, I hope he’s all right.”

Rob laid a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hey, it may take time, but Rae will do everything she can to help him sort through it.”

“What if he won’t talk about it?”

“You clearly underestimate my sister’s stubbornness. She won’t push him, but she has this _look_ she gets…I can’t explain it, but it just makes you feel like you should stop and think hard about whatever you were doing, because it was probably stupid.”

Alistair snickered. “Does that tie in with the bit where she’s usually right?”

But there was no answer, because Aedan and Leliana shouted a warning, they were under attack, and Rob saw his very first darkspawn.

________________________________________

At first glance, the creature resembled an orc from that game Raven used to play; on closer inspection, it was smaller and a lot stupider. Its head was hairless and misshapen, like a half-rotted lime wearing an absurdly broad set of shark’s teeth. An ill-fitting suit of primitive armor adorned randomly with spikes utterly failed to protect it from Leliana’s arrows.

But that was only the beginning, and soon dozens of the greyish creatures swarmed into view, fouling the air with the thick, choking stench of sickness and death. There were taller ones, with mottled, raw-looking faces and bulging eyes, as if they’d been skinned alive and then wedged into armor. Another variety popped up out of nowhere before Zevran cut it down; the thing looked like somebody took the head of a rabid Doberman and stuck it on two feet of torso and twenty feet of claws. Aedan appeared behind one wearing a helm that made it look like it was cosplaying an angry metal cockatoo. Rob’s amusement faded when he saw the creature’s mage staff; evil plague monsters shouldn’t be able to throw fireballs.

But speaking of mages…

Fighting alongside Morrigan had become somewhat routine for Rob by that point, and other than the one time she’d turned into a huge creepy-ass spider, most of her magic had more subtle effects. Fighting with Wynne in the tower hadn’t been that different; she focused on protecting and healing others, just as she was doing now. But Irving and the mages he brought were something else entirely.

The two younger enchanters, twins named Sandil and Dennith, fought with impressive seamlessness, flinging the forces of nature around in ways that made the soldier from Earth gape in awe. One man caused the very ground beneath the charging foes to pitch and reel. The monsters fell…and before they could regain their footing, there was a burst of incredible heat, and a spray of fire shot from the other man’s hands, leaving nothing in its wake but charred corpses and, surprisingly, the clean smell of ozone. The speed and ferocity with which they fought was astounding.

They were nothing, however, compared to Irving.

The First Enchanter had struck Rob as ancient and feeble-looking, and he’d assumed the man was in charge mostly because he was an elder. But in the midst of battle, Irving became someone else entirely.

Arcane winds circled the old man’s form, and with each gust, the horde of misshapen monsters was forced back with grotesque squeals of pain. Then the air was torn by an ear-splitting crack, and a bolt of lightning arced between the creatures, leaving nothing but a twitching, smoking mess. Irving was awe-inspiring in a way that CGI artists would kill to imitate. 

Rob’s survey of the situation had only taken a few minutes, but he wasn’t the only one whose attention had been caught by the mages. Morrigan watched them with an intensity that suggested she was analyzing their spells for future study. Her desire for knowledge was nearly her undoing.

Another darkspawn emerged, having circled the battlefield looking for an advantage. The beast’s armor was heavier and better-fitting than that of its brethren, and it wore a helm adorned with wide, aggressive horns. The huge, wicked-looking mace it carried was made of bloodstained bones…and it was aimed for the back of Morrigan’s head.

With a shout of warning, Rob leapt for the creature, slamming into it at full force with the shield that covered him from shoulder to hip. With the jarring staccato notes of an overtaxed snare drum, he and the darkspawn crashed to the ground. By the time he regained his footing, Morrigan was casting, and his enemy froze in mid-motion. Rob plunged his sword into the now-unguarded gap beneath the creature’s uplifted arm, and when it fell, he slashed its throat. Panting with adrenaline, he turned to the next foe.

Finally, he saw the last darkspawn fall…and if he had ever been tempted to think of Alistair as just some goofy dork with a crush on his sister, he wasn’t anymore.

The huge fiend (an ogre, he later learned) was probably twice the Warden’s not-inconsiderable height and three times his mass. Though liberally decorated with scorch marks and arrows, it roared in slobbering defiance. But with a mighty leap, the former templar speared it through the heart and rode its thrashing corpse to the ground. In a final display of precise strength, Alistair yanked his sword free and rammed it to the hilt into the screaming creature’s giant eye.

________________________________________

Once the battle was over, they found a stream to camp near, and called a halt. The Circle mages were all desperately exhausted, fighting so soon after their ordeal at Kinloch, and there were enough other minor injuries among the rest of the party that no one felt the need to push the issue. After helping to gather and burn the darkspawn corpses so their foulness wouldn’t spread, Rob was more than glad to take his turn in the river, cleansing the filth from his body. His freshly rinsed clothes were drying along the bank as he dove deeper into the pleasantly cool water; when his head broke the surface, the slight breeze warred with the warmth of the late afternoon sun on his face.

“I wish to make it clear that I did not require aid against that darkspawn, warrior. No doubt you think yourself quite the hero, springing to the rescue of a helpless little female, but I quite assure you such a creature was no match for one such as I.”

Morrigan stood on the bank of the stream, looking down at him with customary haughtiness. He stepped closer to reply, and his shoulders and upper torso emerged dripping from the water. If he hadn’t been looking right at her face, he might have missed her wolf-yellow eyes flicking down his body.

But he’d seen, and the thought of messing with the arrogant mage to get a reaction was way too entertaining to resist. (She’d removed her fighting leathers and somehow wore even less clothing than she usually did, but that was completely irrelevant). Rob took a few more steps forward into an unobstructed patch of sunlight; the waterline was just above his hips, and he could feel the air playing over his damp chest. She blinked.

“Aww, and here I was hoping my epic leap into the jaws of danger impressed you. I saw that monster and thought, ‘Finally, here’s my chance to catch the eye of that beautiful mage, even though she’s _clearly_ far too good for someone like me.’” He brought a dramatic hand to his heart; the water he’d cupped in his palm trickled lazily down his body, followed by her gaze. “Alas, I see my brilliant plan has failed.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to label it a failure,” Morrigan said, the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

Rob edged forward as close as he could without exposing himself. “Oh?” he flirted, trying not to burst into laughter. “So there might still be hope, even though I’m obviously just some brainless slab of muscle waving a sword around?”

She raised an eyebrow. “A ‘slab of muscle,’ yes. ‘Brainless’ remains to be seen. Compared to Alistair, you are a genius, but then, so is the dog. As far as your foolish insistence upon flinging yourself into harm’s way for my supposed protection…I might be persuaded to change my mind on that score, if you come to my tent later and review it with me. In detail.” Her eyes, which previously had skated down his body unawares, now roamed his skin with slow, deliberate heat.

Their conversation had brought her just barely within arm’s reach, and the seductive purr of her voice dared him to an action he hoped he’d live to regret. “What if we review it now?” he asked. Grabbing her hand, he tumbled her against him into the water.

Her eyes gave an angry white-hot flash, like lightning piercing the night sky, but then, with her hand splayed against the slick damp of his chest, she seemed to reconsider. Sun-bright eyes met azure from a nearness that stole their breath, and Rob felt all remnants of his taunting burn away as the wet fabric of her skimpy tunic brushed against his bare skin.

The heated moment stretched out like warm taffy. As if by some unseen signal, they lunged for each other, their lips crashing together with the unexpected ferocity of two people who’d faced death and survived. Her skin slid against his where the deep vee of her tunic bared her body, and her hands, devoid of shyness, smoothed trickles of water over his naked back.

He bit her bottom lip, and she groaned; that small slip in her typically steely composure made him eager to see her fully lose control. His hand, which had been resting at her hip after he’d pulled her into the stream, slid slowly up the front of her body, and the dark-haired mage arched against his palm.

And then…

“Hey Rob, Bodahn and his son turned up and offered to clean our armor, thank the Maker. So whenever you’re done washing up, if you want to talk about those sword drills –” Alistair choked mid-sentence as he came down the path into view of the river, and the former templar turned red to the tips of his ears. “I…uh, I’ll just, um, go back to camp then, shall I? Yes. Right. I’ll do that.” He left at almost a run.

Rob laughed against the smooth skin of Morrigan’s neck. “On second thought, maybe having this discussion in your tent would be better after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is why I fuss at myself about personal deadlines...I missed last weekend, in part due to being out of town, and it made it that much easier to miss the mid-week one as well. But I'm back on track now. :)
> 
> A quick note; I'll be needing to do a bit of editing on previous chapters. After doing way too much research, I made a [calendar](http://angelica-grey.tumblr.com/post/174232489396/so-in-case-youre-ever-concerned-about-your-level) of early events in Origins, and discovered my timeline was off. Rob is already outside his three weeks of leave, and would've been before even reaching Redcliffe. And it's early summer, not late fall, it turns out. This shouldn't change any story events, though I may have to add an extra scene or two of Rob & Rae with the Hawkes. :)


	14. Before the Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen is difficult. Raven is exasperated, then disappointed, then hopeful.

Raven ground her teeth together as she read the same page for the fourth time. Despite her best efforts, maintaining a calm, pleasant expression was growing steadily more difficult. The reason for this was quite simple: Cullen Rutherford was, without a doubt, the most aggravating man in Thedas.

“You may as well quit ignoring me. I do not intend to drop this conversation until you give me a _reasonable_ answer.” The biting anger in the templar’s voice was as unmistakable as his sneer at her previous responses.

In her head, she repeated what had become her litany over the past week. _‘He was the only surviving templar. He’s dealing with serious PTSD. You know he turns out decent eventually, and that he was decent before. He isn’t normally this much of an ass. Be calm. Be patient.’_

“Void take you, woman, cease this childish silence and explain yourself!”

 _‘Also,’_ she thought, _‘killing him would mess up history.’_

She prided herself on her even tone when she finally looked up from her book. “I don’t know what else you expect me to say. The Knight-Commander said Irving told him I was in charge of your care. He asked how you were doing. I told him. That’s all.”

“You ‘told him.’ Told him what? That I am a pathetic wretch incapable of even the most basic duties?” He’d crossed the small room to stand by her chair, snatching the book from her hands. “I can only assume so, as he refused my request to begin attending drills again.”

When she’d played the game where Cullen was a major character, she’d dreamily likened the color of his eyes to warm caramel. Now she only saw the eyes of a predator, and felt like prey. “Cullen. It’s only been a week. Even if near-starvation was the _only_ thing you suffered, you _still_ wouldn’t be ready yet. With the lyrium withdrawals, all your physical injuries, and the mental and emotional trauma on top of _that,_ it will take time. You can’t just pretend nothing happened.”

“My mind is perfectly fine,” he growled, staring a hole in the wall while a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“Right. That’s why you woke up strangling a ten-year-old.” She instantly regretted the flippant words.

“So you told the Knight-Commander I’m unstable and cannot be trusted?” he spat, pacing. “Even though it was the mage-child who disobeyed your instructions? Maybe that’s it; maybe you want me kept apart so the others don’t find out she’s unmanageable. It’s surprising she hasn’t attracted demons already, with her rebellious attitude. Perhaps she has.”

It was Raven’s turn to glare at the wall. Snapping angrily to Shanna’s defense wouldn’t help, no matter how much her instincts demanded it. “Listen to yourself. This isn’t about Shanna; it’s about you.”

He flung her book at the wall with a sudden ferocity that made her wince, her shoulders hunching anxiously. _“Me?_ You don’t know anything _about_ me!”

“You’d be surprised,” she muttered.

Cullen whirled, his anger giving him energy. He slammed one hand down on the table beside her, and leaned down to grip the arm of her chair with the other, trapping her. Inches from her face, he hissed, “Oh yes, I had forgotten. You’re the scholar; you know _everything._ Well, _scholar,_ I have been training to be a templar since I was thirteen years old, up every day before dawn honing my skills to be fit to serve the Maker. That is _who I am._ And I don’t need some _fat, patronizing, little bookworm_ who has clearly never known real work to sit back and _judge_ me.”

Raven’s breath caught, and to her dismay, she could feel her eyes welling up. Near as he was, he couldn’t help but see when the first tear rolled down her cheek, or hear her gasping breaths as she fought the urge to cry. Sudden horror flowed over his face, and he staggered backward. “I didn’t…I…I’m sorry, I…” Unable to finish his sentence, he bolted from the room. 

Alone in the silence, Raven knew he was right. What could a chubby gamer nerd possibly know about the combat readiness of a templar tortured by demons and healed by magic? How stupid, how arrogant, to think her opinion mattered. 

Losing the battle against her emotions, she laid her head upon her arms and wept. 

________________________________________ 

That afternoon found Raven in the library, determined anew to get back to a world she could handle. Putting Cullen’s words out of her mind, she focused on the books in front of her, looking for “Geographical Oddities of Ferelden,” on the off chance it would mention some weird Bermuda Triangle-esque place where people randomly vanished. It was a long shot, but she was grasping at straws. 

A man’s voice rose nearby, sounding absolutely aghast. _“What are you doing?!_ Some of those tomes are over a hundred years old; you can’t stack that many of them on _top_ of each other! The _bindings_ will loosen and we’ll have _pages_ flying out _everywhere!”_

For the first time that day, Raven felt a stirring of hope. She recognized that outrage, and it belonged to someone she should have thought of already. It was like running into a coworker at the mall, she supposed, disorienting to find someone outside their usual context. She had a thorough memory for the game’s characters, but kept forgetting that people who weren’t featured until later still existed now. 

Rounding the corner, she watched as a nervous apprentice mumbled apologies, going white when one of the books slipped from his stack and thunked to the floor. Raven stepped in to divert the mage before he delivered another tongue-lashing to the hapless boy. 

“Excuse me; I’m sorry to interrupt…but are you Finn?” 

The redheaded man turned to give her a surprised look, and the apprentice seized his chance at a getaway. “Yes, that’s right. And you are…?” 

“My name is Raven; I’m a scholar. I came with the Grey Wardens, but I stayed to do some research. I was hoping you might be able to help me, actually.” 

Finn frowned. “What are you researching? And…may I ask why you want _my_ help, specifically?” 

She thought quickly. “I heard someone say you’re an expert on this library’s collection, and quite a scholar yourself.” She hid a smirk when he preened at that. “I won’t be here long, and having the aid of someone knowledgeable would really be helpful.” 

“I see. Well, I’m very busy with the library restoration, but I may be able to spare some time. Though you still haven’t said what you’re studying.” 

“That…gets a bit complicated.” 

________________________________________ 

Ultimately, she knew Finn would be more interested in the mechanics of world-hopping than in asking about his future, and since his digital self only featured in one bonus mission, there wasn’t much to tell him anyway. So, she’d explained her dilemma. As she’d hoped, the bookish mage’s curiosity had kicked in, and before she could blink, she had a stack of a half-dozen books to look through. His own stack was twice as high, and he eagerly promised to meet again the following day. 

They were just wrapping up when Shanna silently appeared at her elbow, startling the life out of her as usual. Finn hurried off to scold another apprentice, and Raven added two more books to her stack: a tale called “The Last Griffon” for Shanna and “Legendary Blades of Thedas” for Cullen…if they started speaking again. 

She sighed, and Shanna eyed her critically. Like most children who grew up in unstable environments, the little elf had an uncanny knack for gauging the moods of others. “You all right? Ye seem outta sorts.” 

“I’m fine,” she lied. “I just have a lot of work to do. I should be asking you that; I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without food in your hand.” 

“Uh-huh. An’ has yer templar got a lotta work too? Cos’ ‘e ain’t been near the infirmary all afternoon, and that grumpy ‘ead templar ain’t seen ‘im neither. Dog went off to look for ‘im an’ I come to tell you.” 

Raven’s discomfort shifted to concern. “He was…angry with me this morning, because he wanted to start training again and I said he shouldn’t.” 

The elf scoffed. “If ‘e thought ‘e was ready to go swing swords with the rest of them metal-plated gits, ‘e’s been ‘it upside the ‘ead more than we thought.” At Raven’s chiding glance, she said, “Wot?” 

“You need to be more respectful when speaking about the templars. They aren’t all as honorable as Cullen.” 

“Oh? An’ wot’ll they do, pray tell? Try to choke me?” 

“Maybe. But they might do it on purpose.” 

Chastened, the little girl picked up some of the books and followed the scholar back to the infirmary. 

________________________________________ 

“I thought I might find you here.” 

Cullen looked up sharply at Raven’s approach. “I don’t know why you’d want to,” he murmured. She sat beside him and Hohaku on the small dock, and for a while they silently watched the late afternoon sun reflecting on the gentle waters of Lake Calenhad. 

Finally, in a soft voice, she said, “I’m sorry I spoke to Greagoir without consulting you. You’re right; I don’t know anything about your training, and it was wrong to make that decision without asking you.” 

The look he gave her was incredulous. “Surely _you_ are not apologizing to _me?!_ After the way I raged about like a wild beast? And the… things I said, that hurt you? I didn’t…I don’t know what came over me. No matter how it seems, I do know you have helped me, and I am grateful. Especially since you have no reason to do so.” He added bitterly, “I certainly don’t deserve it.” 

“Cullen, you absolutely _do_ deserve it. You are a good person, and you are worthy of help.” 

“How can you _say_ that?! You’ve known me for a week, and in that time I attacked a child and nearly attacked you! I lack Simon’s steadiness, or even Osmund’s years of experience…but I watched them die, and I still live.” In a voice thick with the threat of tears, he rasped, “It should have been me. Maker, why wasn’t it me?” 

“Hey,” she said gently, reaching out and waiting for his acknowledgment before taking his hand. “It _wasn’t your fault._ It wasn’t a game where only one person could win the grand prize of survival. Those templars didn’t die _in your place;_ they just _died._ But other people, like you and Wynne and Greagoir and Shanna, lived. Would you say that Greagoir didn’t deserve to live, that it should have been him that died?” 

“No, of course not!” he replied, shocked. “He is the Knight-Commander!” 

“And yet, I bet he’s thinking some of the same things you are. That he should have prevented it, he should have known. That the men under his command shouldn’t have died while he still lived.” 

The templar had no response for that, so he shifted topics. “Even so…the Knight-Commander isn’t the one who lashed out like an animal and…and made a lady cry…” He looked away, his shoulders hunched. 

“I’m fine now. Something you said just hit a sensitive spot for me. You couldn’t have known.” He looked up at her, curious, and she groaned inwardly; explaining her hang-ups to Cullen Rutherford was the last thing she wanted to do, but she couldn’t very well expect him to open up while refusing to do so herself. 

“Where I’m from, everyone is expected to be thin. The women considered most attractive are waifs whose ribs can be counted at a glance.” Heartened by his confused look, she continued, “So, when someone _isn’t_ like that, if they are—“ She struggled with the taboo word. “If they’re called fat, it’s the same as calling them ugly. And since beauty seems the most important thing about a woman…if she’s ugly, she’s worthless, too. A…friend explained to me that it’s not like that here, but it’s still difficult to hear, and it just…caught me by surprise, is all.” 

If possible, he looked even more stricken than before. “No, no, that is not…I never meant…” Halting in frustration, he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, before turning to look her in the eye. She was suddenly conscious of the feel of his callused fingers gripping hers. “Maker, I’m not good with words. But you must understand, no matter how much of an arse I’ve been, I _never_ meant that. You are lovely in both form and spirit, and I beg your forgiveness for the cruel things I said.” He sighed. “And probably will say again, since I’m such a Maker-forsaken mess.” 

She smiled. “Oh, I’m a mess too. All the best people are, really. Normal is boring. Shall we go get the kitchens to send us messy people some normal food?” 

Cullen’s handsome visage registered surprise, and then…very briefly…a smile. “Yes, let’s,” he said simply. 

________________________________________ 

She shouldn’t have tried to wake him, she knew. But his thrashing cries had been loud enough to be heard through the stone wall between their rooms, so she’d gone to check on him, and he was so miserable she couldn’t just leave him locked in his nightmare. So, when he hadn’t woken to repeated shouts, or even when she’d shaken his foot from a safe distance, she’d braced herself and shaken his arm. 

She’d expected him to lash out with a fist, or grab her throat like he’d done with Shanna. She had not expected him to yank her down to him and crush his mouth to hers. Pure shock…and perhaps, if she were being brutally honest, her awareness that he was shirtless and extremely attractive…kept her motionless for a moment, until she snapped to her senses. Any potential thrill evaporated when she realized he still wasn’t awake, and she couldn’t escape his iron grip. 

So, she bit him. 

His eyes flew open, clouded with sleep and confusion, and when he saw her there, he scuttled back toward the headboard in a way that would’ve been comical if he hadn’t been so terrified. “What are you doing here? Why are you in my…my bed?” he gasped. 

She tried not to bristle at the implication she was there of her own volition as she sat up and collected herself. “Because I didn’t take my own advice,” she sighed. “You were having a nightmare, and I tried to wake you without touching you, but it didn’t work, so…” 

Shame mingled with fear in his expression, or what little she could see of it in the weak moonlight coming through his window. His throat hoarse from crying out, he asked, “So I…I did that? I… _forced_ you to…?” 

“Whoa, stop that line of thought right there. It was just a kiss, and I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me. And if I didn’t draw blood when I bit you, we’re both okay. Right?” 

Doubtfully, he nodded. “Yes. Right.” He rubbed his bottom lip, and then, judging by the flush that covered him from chest to ears, it occurred to him he wore only thin sleeping pants, she wore a simple undertunic and knickers, and they were both in his bed. Before she could decide whether to be amused, he went from red to white and his chest started heaving with panic. 

“Cullen,” she called softly, going very still. “You’re safe. I promise I won’t touch you. Can you take a deep breath and tell me how many books are on the table? What do they look like?” 

By now, he undoubtedly knew what she was trying to do, but he shakily focused on his description. Finally, he was calm, though still unable to look at her. 

“If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. Okay?” 

He nodded in the near-darkness. “I…you don’t…have to go yet. If you like.” She smiled encouragingly at him, but it must not have been convincing enough. “Are you sure I didn’t hurt you? You look…upset.” 

She sighed. “No, it’s nothing you did. My research…it was important to my family, and I found out today that what I hoped for isn’t going to work.” 

She’d met Finn again that afternoon, after a week of little progress, and he’d said there was someone he wished to consult…and then led her to the basement. She figured it out, then; she knew there was a statue down there with the spirit of a woman bound to it. Finn wanted to speak to her, as he did in the game, because she was knowledgeable about ancient magic. 

But the woman owed her form to the fact that she was also a seer, one whose prophecies angered her ruler enough to receive a stone prison as punishment. When Raven greeted her, the spirit spoke sadly. “You will not find the answers you seek. Stories call to your blood, and this land will not release you with your tale untold. Your door requires a key only time will forge.” So, assuming the seer was correct, as she had been for a thousand years, Raven and Rob could not go home. 

She was overwhelmed and lost, and hadn’t even begun to know how to feel. It was, in fact, why she’d still been awake to hear his nightmare. But she didn’t have the heart to explain all that, so she simply said, “My work has all been for nothing. I’m back to being a helpless burden in a world of war.” 

“The Knight-Commander obviously did not think you helpless. Nor this Wynne you spoke of, or…or Alistair.” 

Raven’s head tilted to one side, seizing the diversion. “Is something wrong between you and Alistair?” He flinched, and she hastily added, “You don’t have to tell me. You just seem upset when his name comes up, and he didn’t mention any reason why that would be.” 

Cullen sighed. “He wouldn’t know any.” And then Raven nearly held her breath for fear of disturbing the moment as, in the quiet darkness, he began to speak. 

“The blood mages, the demons…they picked through my mind, using whatever amused them. They found Alistair, my best friend. And…” he examined his fingernails. “And Solona Amell. A mage I…ah, admired. Nothing happened,” he rushed to clarify. “It wouldn’t have been proper, a mage and a templar. But they saw her in my mind and from then on, every terrible thing they did, they tried to wear Alistair or Solona’s face.” 

“When I was awake, I could close my eyes and focus, and open them to see the truth. The murderers, the torturers, were just themselves. But,” Cullen’s voice broke, “when I slept, I couldn’t make them go away. They made me dream…things. And they’d let me wake to find them…touching me…” He choked, clenching his jaw to hold in a sob, as he shook so hard she felt the bed tremble beneath her. “I couldn’t stop it. I should have been strong enough to stop it, but I…” The broken templar buried his face in his hands and wept. 

Her own face wet with tears, she said, “Hey…it’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong, and-“ 

“You don’t _understand,”_ he snarled, his head snapping up. “I _did._ I…some of the things they did, I…it felt…good. What kind of twisted monster would take pleasure in that? I didn’t know how… _that…_ was supposed to feel; I’ve never even…” All at once, he seemed to remember who he was talking to, and what he was saying, and he looked off into the darkness, trying to master his emotions as the shame and rage rolled off him in waves. Her heart broke all over again. 

“Cullen. Look at me.” For a long moment she thought he’d refuse, but finally his burning amber gaze met hers, almost challenging in its fury. _“It. Is. Not. Your. Fault,”_ she said, with every ounce of conviction she had. “They starved you, took your lyrium, beat you, burned you, broke your body…but they did not break _you._ And after all that, if they found ways to make your body react…there were desire demons, Cullen. That’s what they _do._ Some things are just physical reactions, no different than bleeding when you’re cut.” 

“But where it counted, when you were aware and had a choice, you resisted. You denied them the power they wanted. Please believe me when I say that out of all the people I know in this world, I can think of no one stronger than you.” 

He wouldn’t believe her, she knew. Not yet. Maybe not for years. But when, for the first time, _he_ reached out with trembling, hesitant fingers to take _her_ hand, she thought maybe someday he would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my heart. So much angst. It's really bizarre to find yourself crying for your characters while you write, and know that you're the one putting them through all that. :P
> 
> I didn't want to oversimplify Cullen's recovery, or gloss over the fact that he'd likely be a very angry, erratic person at this point in his story. It felt like a huge disservice to his character growth to hand-wave it all away...so I hope you all forgive me. 
> 
> And Raven, of course, would much rather focus on caring for someone else instead of dealing with her own emotions. She was right; they're both a mess.
> 
> For anyone missing our Wardens & Co., the band will be getting back together next chaper. :)


	15. All Who Wander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunions and separations abound, and Leliana contemplates them all.

Leliana sat beside the campfire, stroking the small child’s dark hair as he slept with his head in her lap. The entire group had been through more than their share of trials, but Connor Guerrin’s brief ten years of life had been fraught with far too much pain for one so young. The ritual to free him from the demon had been successful. But while his beloved father remained silent and still from the poison in his veins, and his mother wailed in flamboyant Orlesian misery, the poor traumatized boy was taken away from the only home he’d known, to be locked in a Circle tower forever.

It wasn’t right, the bard thought. Surely this was not what the Maker intended for his beloved children. 

She was drawn from her thoughts by approaching footsteps, and gave Aedan a sad smile as he sat beside her. “How is he doing?” the Warden asked quietly.

She shrugged. “As well as can be expected, after being taken from his home and family. Though in truth, bringing him with us may be kinder than leaving him in Redcliffe would have been, even despite the chaos at the Circle tower.”

Aedan tried to lighten her mood. “Isolde tips the balance, I think. Escaping that melodramatic harpy always has to be the better alternative.”

“Believe it or not, she is far calmer than some of her Orlesian relatives. No, it’s true!” She laughed at his doubtful expression. “I wonder if Eamon knew magic runs in her bloodline? Though I suppose it wouldn’t have mattered. Bards of the time made much of the passionate romance between the governor’s daughter and the bold Fereldan rebel who claimed the girl’s heart as he reclaimed his lands.”

“Wait. They sang romantic songs about Eamon kicking out the Orlesians… _in Orlais?”_

“Of course! This is the heart of being Orlesian, to know there is nothing so dire it cannot be set aside in favor of a good story.”

Aedan snorted in typical Fereldan disgust, but he grinned when she giggled. Slowly, the look in his green eyes shifted from merriment to appreciation.

In her years as a bard, she’d seen that look in the eyes of many men, and more than a few women. She knew exactly where it could lead. But after her time in the Chantry, she hesitated…not for fear of the Maker’s disapproval, but because she did not want to fall back into her easy old habits of manipulation. She wanted real affection, not as a bard, but as herself.

_‘He really is so young,’_ she thought, looking at the Warden’s handsome face. Few would have guessed Aedan was ten years her junior. But something in his bearing enhanced him and belied his youth. Perhaps tragedy had aged him. Maybe it was the indefinable strength that made him a Grey Warden, or even the weight of responsibility on his shoulders. Whatever the cause, Leliana didn’t see him as just another young admirer. He was…something more.

She carefully extricated herself from beneath the sleeping Connor, and extended a hand to the Warden. “Shall we go for a walk?” she asked.

And they did.

________________________________________

Just under a month after they left the mage tower, they made their safe return. Leliana smiled as Alistair helped Connor down from the dwarven merchant’s wagon. Though they weren’t truly related and the man had been sent away before the boy was born, Alistair’s behavior reminded her of nothing so much as an overprotective older brother. It was sweet. 

Connor waved farewell to Bodahn’s son Sandal. Despite the young dwarf’s seemingly limited mental capacity, his sunny disposition had set the boy at ease. Between Sandal and Alistair, Wynne’s grandmothering, and Leliana’s care, Connor had found at least a few moments of peace. She beseeched the Maker to bring him similar comfort in the foreboding Circle tower.

When they’d reached the small dockside town late that morning, most of their party decided to stay in the inn for the day. Aside from the mages (minus Morrigan), the only ones waiting for the ferry were Aedan, Alistair, Rob, and herself. Leliana tried not to feel ancient as the three young men fell into now-familiar patterns of friendly harassment.

“Are you sure you can bear to be parted from your new light of love while we’re at the tower?” Alistair teased Rob, though he still wore a look of vague disgust at the whole idea.

When Rob didn’t reply, Aedan picked up the thread. “No, Alistair; it’s still daylight, so it’s fine,” the Warden grinned. “Morrigan won’t need him until later.”

Leliana stifled a laugh when innocent Alistair reacted far more than Rob, who simply stretched lazily and smiled. “You waiting for me to argue? It’s not like I go to her tent to play chess and discuss philosophy.”

“Tsk tsk,” said Aedan. “Whatever will your sister think of these antics? I’ll have to ask her.”

“Nah,” said Rob, smirking. “Have Alistair do it. I’m sure he’d be totally comfortable talking to Rae about sex.”

This time Leliana did laugh; it was impossible not to giggle at Alistair’s expression…a complex mix of disgruntled, horrified, embarrassed, and a tiny bit intrigued. He opened his mouth to retort, thought better of it, and, mustering all his composure, said haughtily, “I’m going to check on Connor.”

Leliana wiped her eyes as the other two burst out with renewed laughter. “You are a very bad man,” she said to Rob shaking her head with a grin.

________________________________________

The bard meandered toward the infirmary. The scholar had vanished after greeting them in the entry hall. Before Shanna started bombarding Rob with news, she’d told Leliana where Rae had probably gone.

Alistair was with the mages helping Connor get settled, and Aedan was celebrating his reunion with Hohaku by taking him to play with the youngest mage apprentices and templar recruits. Their elders no doubt disapproved of their roughhousing in the Great Hall, but their debt of gratitude to the Warden allowed him to do as he pleased.

So, the redhead had been at loose ends and went in search of her friend. But as she neared the door, she heard voices and stopped to listen.

“…and I told Shanna to tattle on you, so don’t think you can overdo it just because I’m gone,” said Raven, getting a disgruntled snort in response. “I mean it, Cullen. You’re doing much better, but I know pain is exhausting. I got shot in the arm a while back, and even that minor wound still hurts sometimes; I can’t imagine the aches you must have. But honestly, I’m more concerned about…all the rest. Promise me that if you’re having difficulty coping, or the nightmares get worse, you’ll talk to someone.” There was no reply until she softly added, “Promise me. Please.”

“Fine,” he sighed with ill grace. “You have my word.”

So, Leliana thought, leaning silently against the stone wall of the hallway and eavesdropping shamelessly, this was Alistair’s friend, the templar they’d freed from the blood mages. Raven was right to be concerned. The body healed more easily than the heart and mind.

“Shanna will meet you for lunch each day to make sure you’re eating. I’m leaving her reading primers with you, so you can work on her letters over lunch; she’ll complain, of course, but you know she hates being so far behind. I think I’m going to introduce her to Connor. I’m hoping she’ll take him under her wing, but he’s well-educated so maybe he can help her too.”

“I am _not_ a _nursemaid!”_ the templar snapped. “We still have no idea how many mages were compromised by the influence of blood magic, and…”

“Oh,” the woman interrupted sweetly. “My mistake, maybe I misunderstood. You _are_ a templar, correct?”

“Of course, and—“

“And the duty of a templar is to protect civilians from mages, and mages from themselves?”

“I fail to see what—“

“When Shanna’s abilities manifested, she’d been frightened by a guard in the alienage. In her panic, she accidentally set a building on fire, killing two people. Connor was frightened when his father was poisoned. He almost became an abomination, and the demon trying to use him killed half of Redcliffe.”

“And you _wonder_ why I keep trying to make you see that mages are dangerous?!?” Cullen shouted. Leliana saw where she was heading and admired the set-up.

“No, you’re right. Both children have the _potential_ to be _very_ dangerous. And since your job is to protect people from that danger…and since it was distress that made them behave dangerously in the past…then logically, the best way to protect everyone would be to ensure they experience as little distress as possible.”

There was a long pause, during which Leliana resisted the urge to snicker or applaud. “…but…”

The scholar’s voice grew soft again. “Cullen, I can’t stay here with Shanna, and Hohaku can’t either. She’ll be all alone. I’m worried about her, especially since everyone who’d usually handle the new apprentices is busy…or dead. The only thing that makes me feel better is knowing you’ll be here to watch out for her. Please say you will. I trust you to keep her safe.”

“You trust _me_ to protect her? After all I’ve done?”

“Without hesitation.”

He relented, as was inevitable after that fine blend of “lady requests gentleman’s aid” and “lady admires brave protector.” Leliana was about to make her presence known when Rae spoke again. “Oh, one last thing. Alistair…deep breaths, remember; you’ve got this…Alistair is here. We’ll be leaving soon, but he’ll probably ask to see you. Do you want to see him?”

The templar’s hurried negation was strained. Alistair had spoken of their friendship fondly on the way to Redcliffe. Leliana wondered what had changed.

“Cullen, hey. It’s okay. I understand, and I don’t blame you. I’ll think of something to tell him. But I do ask that you trust me enough to let me explain things to him once we leave here. Would that be all right?”

“I…I don’t…does he have to know?”

“He’s your friend. He’ll understand. Otherwise, he’ll just be hurt, and I know that’s not what you want.”

“…no. I…I suppose you can tell him. I should do it myself. If I were a braver man, I would be able—“

“Stop that. No beating yourself up, remember?”

It seemed as good a time as any for an interruption, so the redhead backed up a few paces and then let her heels click on the floor as she approached. “Raven?”

“Here, Leliana.” The short brunette smiled in greeting. “Cullen, this is Leliana. She’s the Chantry sister I told you about who’s been helping the Wardens.”

“I remember.” He nodded, looking vastly improved from when she’d seen him last. His posture still showed hints of pain, and he was dressed casually instead of wearing his heavy armor. But his skin had lost its unhealthy pallor. Now that he was no longer gaunt and half-crazed, he was…quite handsome, actually. _‘Well hello,’_ she thought.

“And Leliana, this is Cullen. He’s one of the best templars at Kinloch, and he’s been kind enough to help me take care of Shanna and teach her how to read.”

“Really? How wonderful! I know your brother was hoping the girl had made some friends.” She gave the templar a sunny smile.

“Yes, well. If you’ll forgive me, I must take my leave,” he said stiffly. “Lady Raven, you have my utmost gratitude for all your assistance. I shan’t forget what we discussed.” He left with a quick half-bow. Leliana was disappointed at his haste, since it afforded far too little opportunity to appreciate his backside.

Raven sighed. “How much did you hear?”

The bard was mildly offended at the implied slight on her eavesdropping skills. “What? Surely you did not sense any reason to believe I was listening?”

“No, I just figured it was a safe assumption.”

“Ah,” she giggled. “Well, what I heard is far less entertaining than what I saw. You really must tell me how you always manage to find such pretty men.”

Raven rolled her eyes and laughed. “It’s a gift.”

________________________________________

That evening, they all crowded onto the ferry back to the mainland. Wynne had elected to join them on their travels. She sat beside Aedan, asking him about future plans while he scratched Hohaku’s ears. Leliana was not displeased to be pressed against his other side. Raven was wedged between Alistair and Rob, too busy watching the Circle tower recede into the distance to complain about being jabbed by their armor.

Leliana frowned. Raven and Rob had disappeared for a while earlier, and returned looking unusually subdued. They’d both fretted over the little elf, Shanna; perhaps they were worried about leaving her? But no, the girl had handled their departure well. She’d agreed to keep an eye on “Ser Metalbritches” and “the spooky new shem boy.” The siblings had promised to write, telling her to practice reading so she’d be ready when their letters came, and that was that. What, then?

Alistair chattered aimlessly about Connor and Cullen, occasionally losing his train of thought when he looked down to see Raven so near, but she showed none of her usual blushing in return. As far as Leliana was concerned, that was proof something was wrong. She didn’t think Raven had feelings for the templar; she treated him more like a patient than a man, and he’d likely have a long road ahead before he was ready to be close to anyone. But what else could it be?

Hm. “Oh, Raven, I forgot to ask earlier…you were doing some research here, no? Was the library helpful?”

The scholar started, and her eyes fell. “No, I’m afraid not.” Rob’s jaw clenched and he looked away. Aha.

“That is a shame. Perhaps you’ll find other sources that will be of more help once we reach Denerim.”

Raven’s smile didn’t reach her sad eyes. “Maybe.” After looking thoughtful for a long moment, she leaned to one side and gingerly laid her head against Alistair’s armored shoulder. The copper-haired warden’s eyes went wide and he was silent the rest of the trip.

________________________________________

“So... you're female, Leliana, right?”

The redhead raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “I am? That's news. When did that happen?”

It was the night after they’d left the tower, and Leliana and the two Wardens were out gathering deadwood for the evening’s campfire, while Sten and Zevran hunted and the others set up the camp. Aedan snickered at her sarcasm; Alistair looked sheepish, but soldiered on. “I just wanted some advice. What should I do if...if I think a woman is special and—”

The other Warden laughed. “Alistair, spare yourself the embarrassment of these vague questions. You are _not_ subtle; everyone sees how you act around Raven.”

The ex-templar’s mouth dropped open, and then closed with a snap. After a moment, he collected himself enough to respond, “I don’t know what you mean.” His furious blush belied his breezy reply.

“Of course not,” she said mildly. “But to answer your question, just be yourself. You are a little awkward, but it adds to your charm. It is endearing.”

“Yes, that is exactly how I hoped to appear,” he said dryly. "Endearingly awkward. After all, what woman could resist the allure of a man who blurts out random nonsense while sweating profusely?”

“But why are you nervous? Raven will not bite.” A mischievous streak made her add, “Well, perhaps if you ask nicely.” Her grin broadened at his glare.

“Why _wouldn’t_ I be nervous? She’s smart, lovely, and kind…she sings like an echo of Andraste herself…she’s bold enough to tell off Isolde…brave enough to face a horde of attackers even though she’d never been in a battle in her life…” His sigh was a blend of dreamy infatuation and nervous anxiety, “She’s just…perfect.”

Leliana was forcibly reminded of her younger self speaking of Marjolaine, the woman who’d trained her to be a bard. The woman _she’d_ thought was perfect…who she’d fallen in love with. Until she learned, much to her detriment, that she’d loved her own mental image of Marjolaine, not the reality.

The comparison was not fully apt, she knew. Raven, despite how well she’d manipulated that templar for his own good, would likely be appalled at the kind of deeds Marjolaine considered commonplace. But Alistair’s breathless admiration, _that_ was the same.

“Alistair, no one is perfect. Believing otherwise will only cause you both pain.”

He rolled his eyes. “I _know_ that; I just meant—“

“I know what you meant,” she interrupted, with a sharpness that surprised him. “You asked for my advice; here it is: do not think of how you feel around her. Focus on how _she_ feels around _you._ Learn her dreams, her fears. What she loved as a child, and her hopes for when she is old. Find what lies in the deep quiet of her soul. When you do that, when you truly _know_ her, and she feels she has really been _seen_ …you will no longer _need_ advice on how to woo her.”

Alistair gave a pensive nod, and taking up his bundle of dry sticks, he headed back to camp. Leliana looked back to find Aedan studying her thoughtfully.

“So,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirked in characteristic humor tempered with an unusual hint of shyness, “what sorts of things did you love as a child?”

She laughed, but she told him of her mother’s favorite flower, a small white blossom called Andraste’s Grace, and how its scent always made her think of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry again for the delay. I've been dealing with a lot of family drama, so I've burned through my reserve chapters and gotten a bit behind. Because of that, and since I'm also due to have a couple of surgeries at the end of this month, I'll be dropping to one update a week for a while here, on Wednesdays. Hopefully this is temporary and I can get caught back up soon. :)
> 
> There's a lot of introspection in this chapter, but at least we are finally seeing the stirrings of romance with everyone's favorite cheese-loving Warden. And Leli & Aedan as well. Isn't our party just a pack of lovebirds? ;)


	16. Wisdom to Know the Difference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rob and Raven struggle with the reality of the Blight.

_ Wednesday, 22 Justinian, 9:30 Dragon _

After the rush of putting down the few darkspawn in the area, Rob stood silent, unable to make sense of what his eyes were seeing. Less than two months earlier, this had been the bustling center of Lothering. But now... now it was nothing but corpses and ruin.

“I knew the darkspawn would spread out from Ostagar eventually,” Alistair said, his voice choked, “but I... I hoped there’d be more time...”

Darkspawn had ravaged the town, and then moved on once there was nothing more to destroy; with the few stragglers dead, the scene of carnage was eerily silent. Bodies littered the ground in endless variations of horror. An elven mother and her child had hidden under a wagon and been trapped beneath it when it burned. A robed Chantry brother was pinned to a wall with a rusty pike. A cluster of templars had made their last stand at the Chantry doors and lay dead, bits of armor stolen by the darkspawn as a final indignity.

Buildings were charred and collapsing. Plants and trees had withered and died; the Blight left not so much as a blade of grass to break the desolation. Even the earth was blackened and broken, jutting up randomly in angry spikes. Nothing stirred. And above it all, over the acrid smoke from burned structures and the nauseating reek of charred flesh and death, was the unmistakable rotting stench of darkspawn.

Leliana, who’d spent the most time in Lothering and knew some of the victims, wept openly. Aedan stood behind her with his arms around her shoulders in support, but his own face was white with shock, and Hohaku was pressed against his leg, whining softly. Morrigan and Sten were impassive as usual, but Wynne radiated quiet sorrow, and even Zevran had lost his normal cheer. And Raven... 

Raven stood slightly apart, with silent tears running down her face, and Rob realized... she wasn’t surprised. She had known.

After Kinloch, they’d set out for Denerim to track down a cure for Eamon. Aedan had chosen to head south to pick up the Imperial Highway at Lothering; that way, he said, they could check for any rumors of Dalish clans in the nearby Brecilian Forest when they passed through South Reach. Raven had been unusually quiet all week after that. Rob had thought she was just struggling with their inability to go home, but no... she’d been anticipating this desolation. She’d walked away from Lothering knowing full well those people would suffer horrible deaths... and she’d done nothing.

He couldn’t stand to look at the carnage, wondering if it could have been prevented. “I need to go make sure some friends made it out. I’ll be back in a while.”

“I’ll come with you,” Raven said. He didn’t respond.

Alistair and Aedan got the searching look that meant they were trying to sense darkspawn, but must have found none; they relaxed and Aedan nodded.

“We must do what we can for the dead,” said Leliana, her voice hollow. “I know we do not have time to build pyres for them all, and we must take care not to come into contact with the Blight ourselves... but if we can at least burn the bodies so they cannot rise again or... or be carried off by animals... ” Her voice broke.

Aedan held her closer. “We’ll do what we can, Lel. Rob, let us know what you find. Maybe the corruption won’t be as bad outside the village. We can’t camp here, obviously; keep an eye out for somewhere we can set up for the night.”

He nodded, and the siblings headed out of town toward the Hawkes’ house. Long minutes passed in silence. Finally, Rob could take it no longer. His voice heavy with accusation, his eyes glued to the road ahead, he ground out, “You knew.”

“Yes. The game doesn’t let you go back there to see... all that... but it tells you the town has been destroyed. So yes, I knew.”

He whirled on her. “Then _how?!?_ How could you just leave like that? Jesus _Christ,_ Rae, there were little kids who burned alive while everything they knew was destroyed by monsters!” His voice grew louder as his horrified rage gained momentum. “How the _fuck_ did you just stroll on out, making jokes and getting laid, knowing you left a whole village of people to die?! _What the fuck is wrong with you?”_

Raven stood facing him, trembling, tears streaming unchecked down her face. “And what exactly was I _supposed_ to do?” she yelled back, voice thick with anguish. It startled him; Rae didn’t yell. “Do you think I didn’t _give a shit_ about those people?! That I just thought, ‘Oh well, they’ll get murdered; bummer’ and went on with my day? If you’re _so fucking smart,_ you tell me what I should have done!”

“They _knew_ the darkspawn were coming. Loghain’s men told them. Tons of refugees told them. Aedan and Alistair – _Grey Wardens_ – told them. _We fucking told them._ And they made the choice to stay. Should I have stood in the square and screamed that everyone was going to die, like that crazy guy they chased away from the Chantry? They obviously didn’t listen to _him._ Or hey, maybe I should’ve said I knew _for a fact_ that Lothering would be destroyed, because I can see the future. I bet that would’ve really turned some heads, huh? I bet they’d all have packed up and rushed out of town, stopping only to thank me for my prophecies which they didn’t find weird or demonic at all.” Her anger ran out, and she fell to her knees in the dirt. In a small, broken voice, she asked, “What was I supposed to do?” And she dissolved into great, wracking sobs.

He stood over his sister for a long moment, his face wet and his shaking hands balled into fists in impotent fury. Surely there was _something_ she could have done. If they’d stayed longer... if they’d told Leliana, and gotten her and the Hawkes to help... but Raven was right; the people had been warned, many times over. They either couldn’t or wouldn’t leave, and another voice of doom probably wouldn’t have changed that.

But oh, it was a bitter truth to accept... and he couldn’t help but feel they should at least have tried.

Raven still shuddered with the force of her weeping. Slowly, he knelt beside her. He tried to sound calm, but a storm of anger, hurt, and confusion still raged when he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The weak sunlight on Raven’s swollen eyelids and red face showed the evidence of her misery when she looked up at him, confused. “I... I never thought of it, I guess. You were already dealing with the weirdness of being here; you didn’t need more stress. Plus I didn’t want to make you more worried for Marian. It didn’t make sense for us to _both_ be miserable when we couldn’t do anything about Lothering anyway.”

Of course. Of course that’s why she hadn’t told him. Because she saw the problem, calculated the totals, and chose the lowest amount of suffering, as if life could be reduced to a mathematical equation. And as usual, she failed to include her own pain in the sum, never considering that her feelings should matter. He shook his head. He was a grown man, a trained Marine, and in a literal suit of armor... and his big sister was still trying to protect him. With a sigh, he hugged her, and they both knelt silently in the road, shedding tears for the lives lost.

When they were both calmer, he took her by the shoulders. “Listen. Promise me you won’t do that again.” She opened her mouth to protest, and he shushed her with a glare. “I’m serious, Rae. You’re probably right that we couldn’t have changed this. But what if we’d talked about it, you and me, maybe even Marian and Bethy and their mom, and we’d thought of something to help at least a little? Even if it only saved one person, it would’ve been something. But you were so busy protecting everybody from the bad scary thing that you didn’t even give us the chance to try.”

She clenched her jaw and her lip quivered, and he felt like a jerk, but he knew he wasn’t wrong. “You aren’t the lone superhero responsible for saving the whole world. _Don’t try to do this alone._ Let me be here for you. We’re in this together. Okay?”

Unable to speak, she just nodded. They rose and continued toward Marian’s house, trailing tears behind them in the dust.

________________________________________

It was good the Hawkes weren’t coming back home to Lothering, because the templars would’ve come for Bethany in a heartbeat. She and her mage father had clearly maintained protective wards for years, because the darkspawn taint ended in a neat circle a hundred yards from the house in every direction.

“The circle will fade eventually, but we should be safe for tonight,” Wynne said with approval. “These wards were well done. It’s a pity this friend of yours never came to the Circle; she’s obviously quite skilled.”

Morrigan opened her mouth for a snarky response, but Aedan cut her off with a sharp look. “Don’t, Morrigan. Just don’t.” The witch fell silent with a disdainful sniff.

Dusk had finally fallen, and the party was gathered in the Hawkes’ home. They’d all taken turns using the bathing tub in the workroom, desperate to be clean after burning corpses all day in the oppressive summer heat, choked with smoke and ash. They’d made dinner, but of course no one had an appetite.

Conversation was subdued, and before long Raven and Rob found their familiar beds. Morrigan considered bunking with Raven, but when Alistair spread his bedroll on the floor, she grumbled, shapeshifted into a cat, and wandered off. Zevran eyed the empty space hopefully, but Alistair gave him such an intense glare that he sighed and went off to sleep elsewhere.

Rob lay awake in the quiet room, wishing for a breeze and trying not to think. The dim moonlight through the window reminded him of all that happened since he’d slept there last... which led to wondering if Marian was safe. He was glad Morrigan left. Though he defensively reminded himself he and Marian never even dated, having the mage _literally_ take her place felt wrong.

“Lady Raven?” Alistair called softly. “Are you awake?”

“Yes... and I keep saying, it’s just Raven.” Clearly no one else had been able to fall asleep either.

“Right. Raven. Sorry.” Rob hadn’t known voices could blush, but Alistair’s did. “I just... you seemed upset earlier. Understandably, I mean; it was awful, probably worse for someone not used to battle. Are you... I know this is a stupid question, but are you all right?”

Her sigh drifted through the darkness. “As much as anyone could be, I guess.”

“I know what you mean. I asked Leliana if we should have stayed, tried to help more people. She said we have to focus on stopping the Blight. That as terrible as it feels, we have to serve the greater good.” The Warden sounded troubled. “I... I'm not so sure about that. I felt bad leaving all those people there, all panicked and helpless. I can’t help feeling there should’ve been some way to save them.”

Knowing Alistair shared his own sentiments was gratifying, until Rae asked in a tiny voice, “Do... do you think we could have changed things?”

After a long pause, he sighed. “No, I suppose not, not really. We _did_ warn them. And if we’d taken any longer to reach Redcliffe, everyone _there_ would have died. I hate it... but I honestly don’t know how we could’ve done anything else.”

Rob was of two minds about that. He wanted to argue; he wasn’t ready to accept that so many deaths had been out of anyone’s control. But if Alistair had condemned their inaction, Rae probably would’ve shut herself inside her shell again. As frustrated as he was with her high-handedness, he didn’t want her hurt.

“I did try... ” Her voice was so soft that he barely heard it. “I told people to get out, go to Amaranthine, or Gwaren, or even just South Reach. I wrote some letters for that rude merchant near the Chantry, and used the money he paid me to buy travel rations for refugees. I made potions for the templars, and nagged them to make everyone leave.” Her voice grew strained. “I tried and it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t change anything; I didn’t save them. I couldn’t... I couldn’t _fix_ it...”

Cloth rustled, and Alistair’s silhouette shadowed the side of Raven’s bed as he sat up on the floor. “Hey now,” the Warden said gently. “First of all, you’re only one person. You can’t save the world all by yourself.”

“That’s what everyone expects of you and Aedan.”

“Well that’s... different. And besides, we’re not alone either; we have you to help us. You and the others, I mean. Even Morrigan, as much as it pains me to admit.” Raven gave a shaky laugh in response, as he no doubt intended. “But also... how do you _know_ you didn’t save anyone? People died, yes, but maybe fewer of them because of your help.”

“... maybe, I guess.”

“When we first sensed the coming Blight, I asked Duncan how the few Wardens we had could possibly prevail over something that in the past had taken decades or even centuries to defeat. He told me, ‘You don’t defeat the Blight, Alistair. You use all your heart and skill to defeat the _darkspawn in front of you,_ and then the next one, and the next. As long as you keep doing that and don’t give up, you’ll have done your part, which is all any man can do.’”

It sounded like good advice, Rob thought, and heard Raven echo his opinion.

“He was a good man,” Alistair said softly. “But the point is, you did what you could. Even the prophet Andraste didn’t finish all she set out to do; how could we expect to do better?” He laughed. “When I was a boy, some disapproving sister would’ve slapped my hand with a stick for such blasphemy, but it’s true.”

“I won’t slap your hand,” Rae said, and reached out to wrap her fingers around his. After a long moment, he lay back on his blankets, but the moonlight silvered her arm where he’d gently drawn it down toward him over the edge of the bed.

“Goodnight, Alistair.”

“Goodnight, Raven,” he replied, and didn’t let go.

________________________________________

_ Friday, 1 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

The week or so since Lothering had thankfully been less eventful, though they did find the odd darkspawn straggler on the road to South Reach. Once they’d entered the Brecilian Forest, though, they’d encountered no enemies at all... no darkspawn, no bandits, not even many animals. Leliana said the forest was said to be home to old, old magic, and perhaps it gave the darkspawn pause like the wards around Marian’s house. And as for bandits... she said even most bandits weren’t stupid enough to enter the forest when Dalish elves were passing through.

After the bard’s tales, Rob had been expecting something vaguely like the elves from the Lord of the Rings movies. When the Dalish finally made themselves known (after everyone had been feeling watched for days), he adjusted his assessment. Less tall. Less blond. More artsy face tattoos. Similar levels of stealthy forest skills and arrogant hostility, though.

He watched as Aedan spoke to the head elf, Keeper Zathrian. “So,” he asked his sister quietly, “what are the chances that bald tattooed Elrond here is going to say, ‘Hey, no problem, Mr. Warden; my guys will show up for your war a week from Tuesday’?”

Raven laughed. “’Bald Elrond;’ nice. And remember what I said about NPCs giving you the run-around? Yeah, that. Bonus jackass points because this guy already _knows_ the answer to the problem he’s going to send us to figure out. On the bright side, he’s still less of a pain in the ass than the dwarves we’ll have to deal with later, so there’s that.”

“...great. You know, it would be nice if anyone, ever, would consider that maybe the middle of a Blight would be a good time to handle their own shit so they could focus on the bigger picture.”

“Yeah, but it would make a really boring game.”

Aedan and Alistair approached, looking grim, and the siblings moved closer to the rest of the party. “Well,” the dark-haired Warden said, “in line with the rest of our luck, it would seem this clan of Dalish has been attacked by werewolves. The elves won’t help us until they’re safe, which will be when the elder wolf dies. And conveniently, here we are, armed and armored.”

“You’re shitting me," Rob said. "First zombies, then demons, now _werewolves?_ What’s next, vampires?”

The rest of the group looked confused, but Raven chuckled. “No vampires, sorry. There are blood mages though; does that count?”

“I dunno; it’s really gonna be tough to complete my classic monster bingo card without vampires.”

“Stick around long enough, and we’ll have to fight the Archdemon... an evil god/giant dragon two-for-one combo. Pretty sure that counts as bingo all by itself.”

“Okay,” Aedan cut in, “I won’t pretend that wasn’t fascinating, but we need to get moving. And this part, nobody’s going to like.” He looked resigned. “The Dalish request that we leave half our party here to help defend the village. Since I’m quite certain their scouts would’ve refused our help if we offered, I suspect this is a ploy to keep hostages to ensure we comply.”

The grumbles of anger and dismay started immediately, but he quieted them with a glare. “I don’t love this either. But frankly, my capacity for arguing about stupid shite is utterly gone. I want to get the elves’ support and get the fuck out of here... so we can cure Eamon and put all this on the shoulders of someone who knows what in the Void they’re doing. So if the elves say half of us stay, then half of us stay. Are we clear?” For a moment, the weight of years settled on the Warden’s young shoulders, and Rob was reminded that this man had spent the last several months watching violent death come to almost everyone he met. No wonder his give-a-damn was broken; they were lucky he was sane at all. Quietly, he nodded, and the others followed suit.

“Good. Sten, Morrigan, Zevran, Leliana, and Rob, you’re with the Dalish. Alistair, Wynne, Hohaku, and Raven are with me. Separate out your gear; we leave in the next hour.”

Tense, Rob followed Aedan as he walked away. He didn’t want to argue what had clearly been orders, but the idea of sending his sister into a forest of werewolves without him to protect her was terrifying. He forced himself to sound calm. “Hey... I don’t wanna be a dick about this, but can I just ask what the reasoning is for who’s staying and going?”

Aedan smiled tiredly. “You don’t want Raven to go without you, I know. But I need her to provide information on Dalish lore. And since I still haven’t had the chance to discuss your... homeland with her, the middle of an empty forest should be as good a place to talk as any.” He recited the members of their group as he checked his supplies. “Wynne has a former student who may be living in the forest, and she has healing spells, so she goes. Therefore, Morrigan stays. Hohaku can track scents, so he goes. I only need one large metal meat shield, and I’ve decided to bring Alistair.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Oh, reasons.” He grinned suddenly. “Similar to the reason I’m not bringing Zevran.” Rob glanced over and saw Raven and Alistair standing just slightly too close together, trying (and failing) to look casual about it.

He laughed. “Warden Cousland, are you trying to set up my sister?”

Aedan smiled, unrepentant. “With all this darkness... if they have a chance to be happy, they should take it.”

“Fair enough. Good luck managing Raven, then. She’s a pro at finding reasons not to let herself be happy.”

“Well, given that I’m leaving you and Leliana to make sure Sten, Zevran, and Morrigan don’t piss off the elves too much, I think I’ll have the easier task. Even _with_ fighting werewolves.”

Rob groaned. “You know, you’re probably right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so much angst in this one...but at least we have a bit of Raelistair cuteness, with more on the horizon. :)
> 
> I will be in the hospital all next week (having two spinal surgeries, fun fun), but I'm hoping to still have an update next Wednesday. If for some reason it's delayed, though, that's why. Thanks for all the prayers and good wishes. :)


	17. The Best Policy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair is mostly adorable and Aedan is mostly not.

_ Sunday, 3 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

It was strange to admit, after the horrors of Lothering, but Raven felt more relaxed than she’d been since she’d first met the Wardens. The cool, quiet forest was soothing and peaceful. She chuckled to herself as she imagined Rob’s reaction to that train of thought.

“Something funny?” asked Alistair, walking beside her.

“Just picturing how my brother would gloat if he knew I was actually enjoying myself. I’ve always hated being outdoors, even as a kid. I usually complain nonstop about the bugs, the weather, the lack of proper bathrooms... everything, really... and Rob always harasses me about it.”

“I can’t picture you complaining that much.”

She gave a soft huff of laughter. “That’s only because I’ve been on my best behavior, so Aedan wouldn’t get sick of me and dump me in the nearest town.” The other Warden looked up at the sound of his name, and shook his head with a smile before going back to his conversation with Wynne. “Trust me, under the right circumstances, I’m a world champion whiner.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Alistair chuckled. “So, what’s different about this trip?” His voice held just a shade too much nonchalance, and she couldn’t resist the chance to tease him.

“Well, for one thing, I grew up near a lot of woods. There’s something comforting about being someplace that looks like home.”

His face fell. “Oh. Yes, of course.”

“And I suppose it helps that the company is good.”

“It... it is?”

“Definitely. I mean, Wynne’s got some of the best stories, and Hohaku is a great listener.”

Alistair gave her a sidelong glance, trying to determine if she was serious. With a smirk, she leaned over and playfully bumped his armored bicep with her shoulder. “Oh, and there’s this one ridiculously handsome ex-templar that’s all right to be around, I guess.”

His eyes lit up and he bounced like an eager puppy, which was adorably at odds with his attempt to sound suave. “Soooo... you think I’m handsome, hmmmmm?”

Raven grinned. “Did I say that? I’m sure I couldn’t have. It would be forward, unladylike or something.”

“Riiiight,” the ex-templar drawled with a chuckle. “So, is this the part where I get to say the same?”

“What, that you _also_ find yourself ridiculously handsome?” She feigned a scandalized glance. “Seems a bit conceited, don’t you think?”

He laughed. “Possibly, but who am I to argue with facts?” He pretended to preen as she giggled.

________________________________________

As the day wore on, Alistair spoke up again. “I was trying to imagine how a child could’ve preferred being cooped up inside.” He gave her a rueful grin. “Then it occurred to me that _inside_ for me was where Isolde was, so that _may_ have influenced my preference for the outdoors.”

Raven ignored his attempt at humor in favor of curiosity. “She was awful to you even then?” 

He gave a mirthless laugh. “She hated me before she ever laid eyes on me. Before she came, Arl Eamon treated me sort of like a pageboy. I had a small room in the Keep, clothes, playthings. Eamon was usually busy, but I did have lessons with one of the Chantry brothers, and sometimes Teagan would visit and tell me stories of the Grand Tourneys up in the Marches.”

“It sounds... lonely,” she said.

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “I... suppose it was, a bit. But the arl didn’t _have_ to take me in at all. I was grateful... until Isolde came.”

Alistair stared unseeing down the path ahead, his expression at odds with his carefully indifferent tone. “She said it wasn’t _proper_ for some bastard child to be treated like nobility. My lessons stopped, and I was sent to live in the stable hayloft with three other boys. I wasn’t allowed in the library; too grubby to be around the books, she said. My playthings disappeared. And the servants... any who might have taken pity on me were afraid to. Isolde wasn’t cruel to them; she was too pious for that. But everyone knew she _hated_ me, and she controlled who was hired or dismissed. No servant would risk a place in the arl’s household over some motherless brat.”

Unable to think of a suitable reply, Raven reached out and took the tall Warden’s gauntleted hand. The worn leather covering his palm was warm against her fingers. He looked down in surprise, and forced a self-deprecating laugh. “Listen to me nattering on. Pity the poor little bastard prince, forced to work for a living! Who’s the world champion whiner now, eh?”

When her only response was to tighten her grip, he sighed. “It’s just... I tried _so hard_ to get her to like me. I saw the servant children with their mothers, and... well.” His mouth crooked in a not-smile full of old pain. “When I was small, Eamon gave me a...” he colored slightly, “a golem doll from a shop in Denerim. Silly, I know, but I loved it... so when they started taking my things away, I hid it by burying it in the gardens, and congratulated my young self on being so clever. But then Isolde’s name day came, and I didn’t have a gift for her. So I dug up the only thing I owned... brushed the dirt off as best I could, and gave it to her. She... she said it was filthy and disgusting, and threw it in the fire.” After a long moment, he brushed hastily at the corners of his eyes, and shrugged. “It _was_ filthy and disgusting; she wasn’t wrong. But to answer your question, no, Isolde’s feelings aren’t new. She always thought me a troublesome and worthless burden, and most people since have seemed to agree.”

They had stopped in the middle of the path. Aedan and Wynne drew further ahead, but Raven was unable to look away from the ache in the depths of the warrior’s amber eyes. “Alistair, that idiotic woman has been wrong about nearly everything in her foolish life, but she was by far the most wrong about you.” With effort and a deep breath, she set aside her anger at Isolde and arranged her thoughts. After a moment, she poured her heart into her eyes and willed him to believe her. “You are not now, nor have you ever been, worthless. You’re kind, funny, strong, and smart... more attractive than anyone has a right to be... you care for people whether they deserve it or not, and you risk your life to protect them. You’re amazing.”

Blushing awkwardly, he shrugged. “Don’t let Morrigan hear you say that; she’ll start doubting your sanity.”

She had no intention of letting him deflect. “I’m serious! Would the Grey Wardens choose a ‘worthless burden’ to join them on the verge of a Blight? Duncan knew your value; he was so determined to recruit you that he fought the Revered Mother over it! And what about Cullen? Someone with his stubborn grip on honor wouldn’t be friends with just anybody.”

Alistair shifted self-consciously and wouldn’t meet her eyes; that simply wouldn’t do. She reached up and laid her hands on either side of his face, bringing his gaze to hers. “You are a good man, Alistair Theirin. Please believe me when I say you can’t possibly imagine how many people you’ve already touched and inspired. You’re a hero.”

Their eyes locked; warm golden sand met blue summer sky. As Raven’s urgent need to comfort him abated, she realized with a start that his arms had folded around her. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive, and her thoughts scattered as he leaned down to rest his forehead against hers.

“I... thank you,” he said softly. “No one has ever spoken of me that way before. I will do my best to be worthy of it.” And gently, he pressed his lips to her forehead, his chin resting against the bridge of her nose, and his hand cradling the back of her head.

It was a moment outside of time, and they might have stayed that way forever... but Aedan called out impatiently, and Hohaku came running back to find them. They broke apart, blushing, but Raven tucked her arm through Alistair’s elbow as they hurried to catch up with the others. 

The afternoon sun filtered greenly through the treetops, decorating the shaded path with tiny stars of daylight. And then suddenly, the scholar laughed.

Alistair looked at her, confused. “What?”

She grinned back with evil glee. “I just thought... I know you don’t want the job, but if Eamon does announce your parentage and try to make you the next king, just imagine Isolde’s face.” After a moment of looking utterly stunned, he burst into helpless laughter along with her, and their mirth rang through the wood.

________________________________________

_ Monday, 4 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

She’d just finished setting up camp for the evening when Alistair beckoned her to the edge of the clearing. “What’s up?” she asked? His brow wrinkled for a second – _‘Oops, Earth slang again,’_ she thought – but he just shrugged and drew her into the trees. 

“I want to show you something,” he said once they were out of sight of the camp, and he pulled something out of his pocket with a nervous smile.

It was a rose. It was _the_ rose.

Raven’s thoughts screeched to a halt as, once again, she struggled with the surreal. In the game, once a female character chose the right romance-related dialogue options, Alistair would present her with a rose, comparing it to her uniqueness and beauty. It was a conversation she’d played through countless times, always with a happy little flutter in her heart.

And now, here he stood in front of her, in reality.

Ish.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

Still scrambling to wrap her mind around the situation, she heard herself give her favorite in-game response: “Your new weapon of choice?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he agreed merrily, launching into faux battle. “Watch as I thrash our enemies with the mighty power of floral arrangements! Feel my thorns, darkspawn! I will overpower you with my rosy scent!”

Raven giggled, disarmed as always by his humor. With a shrug, he added, “Or, you know, it could just be a rose. I know that’s pretty dull in comparison.”

Her heart hammered as his golden gaze enveloped her. “I picked it in Lothering, outside the Hawkes’ house. I remember thinking, ‘How could something so beautiful exist, surrounded by so much despair and ugliness?’“ He gave a rueful grin. “I probably should’ve left it alone. I’m lucky there wasn’t some... some spell waiting to ensnare unwary flower thieves.” After she chuckled, he grew serious again. “But I couldn’t just leave it there. Wynne said the wards would fade, and I couldn’t let the darkspawn’s filth creep in and destroy it. So I picked it. And I’ve had it ever since.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said... and, because she’d always been bothered by the plot hole, added, “How is it still fresh after all this time?”

“Wynne did a little magic to preserve it... but she said it would’ve lasted longer than normal anyway; something about the wards, and magic affecting the plants. I mostly just nodded and tried to look like I understood what she was talking about.”

“Well, I’m glad you found it. And I’m sure the Hawkes would be too.”

He’d left his armor in camp, and it added to his vulnerability as he cleared his throat nervously. “Yes, well... good. That’s good. No need for me to fear the wrath of the magic garden monster, then.”

“No,” she said, smiling softly.

“So anyway, the rose... I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted to... give it to you, actually. In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

She knew the right response was to thank him for the sentiment. And she wanted to; oh, she wanted to... to fall into that story and into his arms and believe every bit of it down to the depths of her soul. But...

“Why?” she said instead, wincing at the pathetic, plaintive tone of her voice.

He blinked. “...what?”

“I just... Alistair, I’m a mess. I don’t know what I’m doing out here. I muddle through, just barely finding a way to make myself useful, one bad day away from putting everybody else in danger because of my incompetence. Wynne and Morrigan can shoot lightning from their hands, and Leliana and Zevran know enough ways to kill people to fill a book, and you... you’re a Grey Warden, a hero of legend, a knight in shining armor who vanquishes evil and protects the innocent! And meanwhile I’m here, sweating to keep up, glasses slipping down my nose, like, ‘Uh, I read about the Dalish once.’” Her eyes slid off into the distance. “Not to mention that you’re amazing, and roses are beautiful, and I’m... not.” Her eyes were downcast. “I just... I don’t see why you’d connect something like that with someone like me.”

To her surprise, the Warden chuckled. “You realize we just had this conversation yesterday,” he said, “except the other way ‘round.”

“That was different,” she said stubbornly. 

Alistair laughed, shaking his head. “Not at all. You call me a hero, but you’re more heroic than any of us.”

“...pssh, right. How?” she scoffed.

“Wynne and Morrigan were born with a power you don’t have. I don’t know about Leliana, but I’ve been trained in combat since childhood.” He scowled briefly. “I suppose Zevran was as well, though his main skill seems to lie in being obnoxious.”

His amber eyes searched her face. “But you... even though you spent most of your life in a library, here you are. When most people were cowering in the Redcliffe Chantry, you were arguing for the chance to come out and fight for them. When you couldn’t, you turned that beautiful mind of yours toward building clever defenses. You helped fend off a professional assassin, and had an arrow cut out of your arm with barely a whimper. I could go on, but the point is, it’s one thing to charge into a fight when you’ve trained for it all your life. It’s something else entirely when you’re brave enough to face it without that, just because it’s the right thing to do.”

She frowned. “Well, but that’s... I mean, what else could I do? I couldn’t very well just sit back with a book and a cup of tea and hope it all works out.”

“You could, actually, and no one would fault you for it. But I’m glad you didn’t. And you’re right that it isn’t fair to compare your beauty to a rose...” His gaze roamed her face with a reverence that made her heart skip. “A simple flower could never come close.”

With agonizing slowness, he leaned closer, and Raven was certain he’d hear her pulse hammering as his lips met hers. It was dizzyingly sweet, even despite his inexpert awkwardness. But her arms slid up around his neck, and she tilted her head to find a better angle, and discovered he was a blindingly fast learner. When they finally parted, she smiled dreamily up at him with half-lidded eyes, and found him looking nervous. “That... that wasn’t too soon, was it?”

“I don’t know,” she quoted the game. “I need more testing to be sure.”

“Well, I’ll have to arrange that, then, won’t I?” he laughed, and then fell back to studying her face with that expression of wonderment that melted her soul. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful.”

She knew she wouldn’t be able to speak without falling into giddy tears, so instead, she just kissed him again.

________________________________________

_ Tuesday, 5 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

They had walked for four days just to reach the edge of the Dalish scout patrols, and they felt the eyes of unseen elves upon them the whole time. Aedan had grown more irritable with each passing day. Finally, one of their hidden watchers materialized on the path in front of them to say they’d reached the outer edge of the clan’s patrols and were nearing the heart of the forest. Before anyone could respond, the elf vanished back into the foliage.

“Friendly bunch, aren’t they?” said Alistair. Aedan just glowered and continued walking.

The tension grew throughout the day, but Raven got no closer to figuring out the Warden’s foul mood. So she was utterly unprepared when, after they made camp that night, he gave her a measuring glance and said, “So, Raven. What’s about to happen?”

She gaped at him open-mouthed, while Wynne and Alistair exchanged confused looks. Finally, she stammered, “What... what do you mean?”

He glared, and that aged, ‘weight of the world’ look flashed over his features again. “Can we just skip the part where you pretend not to know what I’m talking about? I am stomping around some Maker-forsaken forest, running errands for a self-important arse of an elf who I know – _I know_ – is lying to me... just so he’ll honor a treaty his people already signed, and lend me a few Dalish fighters who weren’t good enough to defend their own camp. I do _not_ need any more shite to deal with right now.”

Wynne’s blue eyes were kind as she reached out to give the young Warden a gentle pat on the shoulder. “I can’t imagine all you’ve been through, dear...but you have already accomplished great things, and—“

Aedan had been fidgeting with a stick while he spoke, and at that, he flung it into the underbrush with surprising force. “No, you don’t get it. _This isn’t me._ My brother Fergus is the important one, the heir. I’m the _spare_. My life was supposed to be tournaments and wenches, maybe someday marry some boring noble girl for an alliance. _That’s it._ And now I’m supposed to stop a fucking _Blight._ I’d never even _seen_ a Dalish elf before, but now I’m _negotiating treaties_ with them. And I have to, because I’m the only one who can, even though I have _no fucking clue_ what I’m doing.”

He paused in his tirade, his green eyes boring into Raven’s. “So when someone has the answers I need, you can be damned sure I’m going to get them.”

Alistair frowned, edging protectively toward the scholar. “But Raven has been helping all along. I don’t see why you’re suddenly acting like she won’t.”

The other Warden gave a tired, humorless laugh. “No, I’m sure you don’t. Perhaps the lady could explain?”

As Raven radiated unease, Aedan sighed. “Look, I didn’t intend to do things this way. I told your brother I understood your reasons for secrecy, and I do. But after seeing Lothering... and then having these damned elves run us off into the forest, _watching_ us, forcing us to dance to their tune... I just can’t keep this up.”

He threw a dismissive glance at their companions. “Who knows; Wynne’s experience as a mage might give her some insight. And... something tells me you’ll want Alistair to know sooner or later anyway.”

Raven removed her glasses and scrubbed her face with the heels of her hands, trying to steel herself against the possible fallout of the corner Aedan had just backed her into. Finally, with her eyes riveted on the flames of their small campfire, she began to speak.

________________________________________

“Well, that is certainly an interesting story,” Wynne said, clearly trying to hide her disbelief, but Raven had no attention to spare for the old mage. Alistair had listened to the whole tale with an increasingly unreadable expression, and when she’d finished, he’d risen without a word and walked out of camp.

Aedan looked off in the direction he’d gone for a long moment, before turning back to the scholar. “So, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way—“

Raven held up her index finger, the calm gesture of negation at odds with the anger crackling in her eyes. “No,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “You didn’t have to do it like this. I’ll still help you, because I’m not that petty. But that was utter bullshit you just pulled, and you know it. I am _not_ talking to you right now.” The Warden’s mouth hung slightly open as she rose and walked away.

She found Alistair perched in the crook of an old oak tree, watching a pair of halla in a small clearing on the other side of a narrow brook. The beautiful white deer-like creatures, with their long spiraling antlers twisting back from their graceful heads, looked up sharply at her approach, but seeing no threat, they returned to grazing. Raven breathed in the pine-scented serenity of the forest, and wished she felt as calm.

“I used to watch deer graze like that in a field near my house when I was little,” she said tentatively. “They always seemed so pretty and peaceful.”

“And was that in your made-up childhood in the real Free Marches, or your real childhood in the made-up land beyond the Fade where my life is just some funny story you tell for entertainment?” he asked harshly.

She recoiled, stricken. “It’s not like that!”

“And how would I know what it’s like? You _hid_ it from me!” he burst out. “All the times we’ve talked in the last two months... I even told you about Isolde and that stupid doll, which I’ve never told _anyone_ , and you were _lying_ to me the whole time! Idiot Alistair isn’t smart enough to understand the truth, so why bother, right?” The anger in his tone shattered her, but not nearly as much as the wounded look in his eyes.

“You’d have thought I was crazy! ‘Oh hi, I’m Raven and I’m from an alternate dimension and I thought you were a fictional character but it turns out here you are!’ That would’ve gone over well! And at first, I thought we’d find a way home, and nobody would even remember us anyway. But...”

“But now you’re stuck here, with us imaginary people who you can manipulate to do what you want.” The Warden’s voice held a bitterness that didn’t suit him. “Tell me, when you said those nice things to me the other day, did you really mean any of that, or was it just a test to see if I was foolish enough to believe it?”

The unfairness of his accusation added a hint of anger to her anguish, and her words flowed as unchecked as the tears streaming down her face. “You have _no idea_ how wrong you are. So many times... _so many_... when I was lonely, hurt, feeling worthless... I’d go back and replay your story, and I’d feel better. And _every single time_ , I fell in love with you a little bit more. And I mocked myself, because you weren’t _real_ , and how stupid was I to daydream about a man who didn’t even exist? But I couldn’t _help_ it. _I couldn’t help loving you!_ And then I got here, and I _met_ you, and I tried to fight it, even though Rob and Leliana and even _Zevran_ could see it. But then I found out we were staying, and even though it seemed ridiculous to hope, I hoped...”

Alistair silently watched her with turbulent eyes, and she ran out of strength to fight. “But I should’ve known better. I should have known something would ruin it. I told Leliana back in Redcliffe... people like me don’t get to be with people like you.”

Defeated and heartbroken, she turned and walked off into the dark and silent wood.

He didn’t follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I KNOW!! I'm sorry! Don't hate me!! The course of true love never did run smooth, as they say. Alistair just has some thinking to do. ;)
> 
> At any rate, I'm FINALLY back! I really didn't anticipate how much of a mental and emotional drain my surgeries were going to be, but at long last I am finally feeling more like myself again. I owe a huge thank you to those of you who commented and sent messages wishing me a speedy recovery, by the way. I really struggled to get back into writing, but it really helped knowing there were people who enjoyed my work enough that it led them to take a personal interest in my health. You guys are the best. <3 
> 
> Oh, and since I've been adding and editing a few things in the story (dates, for instance), I'll probably be updating some of the previous chapters over the next little bit. No major changes, but if you find yourself taking a stroll through the past and see something that looks different, you don't need to question your sanity, lol.


	18. The Course of True Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wynne is wise and broken things are mended.

_ Tuesday, 5 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

Alistair had no idea how long he’d been sitting in that tree wrestling with his thoughts, but when Wynne quietly appeared beside him, night had fully fallen. Moonlight illuminated her smooth gray hair in its careful, serviceable knot. It seemed an apt metaphor for the woman herself; mature, controlled, and ready for any task. They were all traits the uneasy Warden feared he was failing to emulate. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” she asked gently. He didn’t even know where to begin untangling his feelings, so he just shrugged and looked away.

“I see.” Wynne leaned back against the tree he sat in, brushing a bit of twig off her ornate robe, its deep sapphire hue leached to black by the silvery light. After a while, she spoke in a conversational tone, over the quiet night symphony of the forest.

“I knew a young mage once, who fell in love with a templar.” She chuckled at his sharp glance. “Oh yes, I know, it’s all so very forbidden... but if the Chantry truly believes they can corral healthy young people in one place and _not_ get that result now and then, they must have a great deal more confidence in miracles than I do. At any rate, the two were models of propriety, so no one suspected their romance.”

Alistair nearly interrupted to ask what this had to do with anything. But, after traveling with Wynne for over a month, he knew she had a reason for everything she did. And it was a lot easier to listen to her soothing voice than to confront his snarled emotions, anyway.

“The couple was happy for a time, but then the mage became with child. Mages are not permitted to raise children; she knew the Chantry would take her baby at birth. She needed to tell her templar... but how would he react? Would he blame her? Refuse to speak to her again? Or, perhaps worse, would he resolve to throw away his vows and training to help her escape? To make her an apostate, forever hiding in fear? Faced with such dire outcomes, she was frozen in indecision.”

“But if she really cared for the templar, she should have trusted him,” Alistair frowned. “Didn’t she think he’d want her to be happy?”

Wynne’s smile was sad. “That’s the funny thing about fear; it keeps you from thinking clearly, and only shows you the darkest ends. Thus, wrapped in her fear of losing her beloved, the mage came up with a plan. She’d been raised in the Circle, taught to confide in her First Enchanter. So she explained the situation to him, and asked what could be done to keep her child safe. She refused to name the child’s father, believing that would be enough to protect him.”

“She was wrong?”

“She was wrong.” The old mage’s blue eyes caught a ray of moonlight, turning them into pools of clear, glowing water... with one small river tracing down her cheek. “The next day the templar was sent to Denerim. She was kept in isolation. Even if she’d been foolish enough to write her beloved a letter that would surely be read, she was never given the chance. And so, when her time came, her son was taken. She never saw him again, and his father never saw him at all.”

Alistair laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. Despite Morrigan’s jibes, he wasn’t _that_ dense; it was obvious who the mage in Wynne’s story was. But though he didn’t want to be cruel, he had to ask, “Did the templar ever find out?”

She sighed. “He was so angry he wouldn’t speak to her for a time. Finally, he passed her a note accusing her of caring more about her status in the Circle than their son. They had to see each other often over the years, as they rose in the ranks of their orders. But their love had turned to ash, and they never spoke of it again.”

The young Warden picked at a loose bit of stitching on his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “Thank you for telling me. And I get it; everyone makes mistakes, so I should try not to judge Raven so harshly.”

“No,” she looked up sharply, “that’s not the point at all, though it’s certainly true. The point is this: the templar thought the mage hid the truth because she cared for herself more than for him, but he was wrong. She did it because she loved him _too much_. She was _so_ afraid of losing him that she hesitated until the choice was taken from her. He doubted her love just as she’d doubted his understanding, and they both suffered.”

For a long moment, only the crickets and night birds spoke. Finally, Alistair broke the silence. “Raven... she said she’d enjoyed being with me – er, the... other-realm version of me, I suppose, if that makes sense – and that she,” he swallowed. “That she’d fallen in love with him. Me. Whatever.” He looked at the mage with a lost expression. “Even if I could wrap my mind around the weirder parts of that, I... I don’t...” He flung himself from his seat in the tree, and paced restlessly.

“You don’t feel the same?” Wynne asked, her voice heavy with skepticism.

“No. Yes? I don’t know! That’s just it!” He stopped and turned to her, his face twisted in frustration. “How _would_ I know? She’s the only person who’s ever said... _that_... to me! I don’t know _how_ to feel!”

A wave of pity and understanding flowed over the old mage’s face in the dim moonlight. “Ah, I see. Well, as it happens, I may have some insight there, after puzzling it out myself and being a confidant for more than a few apprentices. So, let’s start with this: it’s plain you have feelings for her. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“I’m not that obvious!” He paused. “...am I? That obvious?”

She chuckled. “A bit, yes. But at this point, you’re probably still feeling infatuation, where everything is breathless and exciting. That generally goes one of three ways. Infatuation can, of course, grow into real love. But if you find you only like being in her bed, not by her side, that’s only lust, and it will fade.”

“Maker’s breath.” He flushed with embarrassment. “We’re not really having this conversation, are we?”

“The third possibility is the tricky one,” she said, calmly ignoring him. “And that’s falling in love with the _idea_ of love. You avoid that by truly getting to know her. If you think she’s perfect, you’re infatuated. When you can list her flaws in order of how much they annoy you – but you’d stand with her through sun and shadow in _spite_ of them – _then_ you’re in love. And every day you fight to keep that love alive, and you _never_ let it fade.”

“That... makes a lot of sense, actually. It’s somewhere to start, at least.” He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I suppose I’d better go talk to her. She’s back in camp?”

“No. She threw Aedan a few icy words of... prophecy, I assume... about the werewolves, and left.”

“Left? She’s... she’s out by herself in a wood full of monsters? And Aedan just... _let her go?!_ Why didn’t you _tell_ me?” He flipped from steady to frantic with a speed he didn’t care to think about.

“You needed some time to think, and she probably did too. As for Aedan,” her lips pursed in disapproval. “It can be very easy to forget how young that boy is and how much he’s been through, but it seems to have caught up to him. He said since she supposedly knows everything, she’ll be perfectly safe. He’s clearly aware he’s in the wrong, but is too stubborn to admit it.”

“We’ll have to have a word about that later, he and I,” Alistair said with a scowl, privately surprised to hear himself speak so decisively. “But first,” he fretted, “I need to figure out how I’m going to find Raven.”

Wynne laughed. “My dear, you spent half your life learning to hunt mages. If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you can find one woman in the woods.”

A sheepish expression flashed over the Warden’s chiseled features. “Good point.” He took a few steps toward the clearing before pausing and turning back. “And Wynne...thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she smiled. “Oh, and one more bit of advice, dear. There’s a fine line between gallantry and condescension. Judging by what I’ve seen of that young lady, implying she’s helpless and needs you to save her will put you on the wrong side of it.”

With a brisk nod, he strode off.

________________________________________

The silent game trail was peaceful enough, but Alistair was fuming. Though he kept his eyes sharp for the many signs of Raven’s passing – a thread here, a boot print there, all barely requiring his attention to find – his mind was caught in a loop that only made him more livid with each repetition.

_“I can’t believe you just sat here and watched her leave,” Alistair said heatedly, as he flung a few supplies into his pack. “The whole reason we’re here is that this forest is dangerous!”_

_“She’s an adult,” the young noble replied, anger and guilt warring on his face. “If she wants to be an idiot, she can deal with the consequences.”_

_“There wouldn’t have **been** any consequences, if you’d let her explain things in her own way, instead of blindsiding her – even after all her help!”_

_“She didn’t go tearing out of here because she was upset with **me** ,” Aedan spat. “If you want someone to blame, I’ll get you a mirror.”_

They hadn’t spoken again before he left camp, but he knew very well the subject wasn’t closed. For the first time, he wondered if passing the burden of command to Aedan had been the right choice. Admittedly, things didn’t usually go well when Alistair led – one attempt had given rise to that embarrassing story Rutherford delighted in telling literally everyone – but in the grand scheme of things, the risk of him ending up trouserless from silly pranks was preferable to the risk of someone ending up dead from stubborn cruelty.

But... _“If you want someone to blame, I’ll get you a mirror.”_ The Warden sighed, plucking a strand of Raven’s long hair from a bramble bush, finally admitting he’d behaved like an ass. Not without reason, of course; the longer he’d listened to her fantastic tale, the more he’d begun to fear she’d only been affectionate to him as some sort of experiment. But if Wynne was right...

If Wynne was right... _“I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t help loving you!”_ his mind replayed, complete with the image of Raven’s beautiful, furious, tearstained face.

He was so focused on his thoughts and watching the trail that he jumped when her quiet voice called from across a small meadow.

“Don’t move.”

She held her crossbow ready, aimed in his direction. He was taken aback. “Look, I know I was an arse, but don’t you think-“

_“Shut up,_ Alistair,” she hissed. “Just stop!”

“But-“

She pulled her trigger, and a crossbow bolt whistled through the air... and went wide of him, impacting with a squishy thud. He looked. Just at the edge of the tree line, a wolf lay dead with a bolt through its eye.

“There were more,” she said as she stood and stretched, indicating two more corpses with a vague nod. “But I think that’s the last of them.”

“...oh. How did you...?”

“I followed some halla,” she said. _“I’m_ no woods expert, but _they_ are. I figured if they were relaxed, it was safe. They ran when the wolves showed up, so I killed the wolves. The halla probably aren’t far; I should be able to find them again.”

She turned an emotionless face to him as he drew near. “So I’m fine. No rescue required. You can go back.” Her calm gave a barely perceptible flicker as she added, “I wouldn’t want to _manipulate_ you into being anywhere you didn’t want to be.”

He winced. “Ouch. Okay, I deserved that.”

They stood watching each other, and after a moment, the scholar’s frozen mask thawed slightly. “No, you really didn’t,” she sighed, slumping down against a massive tree. “I should have told you sooner. I just... didn’t know how to even start.”

Alistair approached and stood awkwardly fidgeting with the straps of his pack. “I can understand that. It’s not an easy story to tell without sounding like a raving lunatic, for one thing.” He cringed inwardly. _‘Oh yes, well done, Alistair. Make a joke at a serious moment, **and** suggest she’s crazy; you’re a suave one.’_

She just gave him the barest hint of a wry smile. “You’re not wrong. I wouldn’t believe it either, if I didn’t know better. Still not sure I do, to be honest.” Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I should’ve just done what Rob did when we met the Hawkes.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a small flat thing, and he jumped as it blazed into life.

On the front was what he took to be a painting of sorts... of him. He’d had a shave, and his armor had less wear and more polish, but it certainly looked like his own face staring up at him from the weirdly bright object in Raven’s hand.

He blinked.

“Is that... him? Er, me? Other-realm me?”

She nodded. “Technically, it’s not your actual image from the game. It’s fan art – some artist liked the game and decided to make artwork based on it.”

“Someone I’ve never met painted my picture. That’s so strange...but I suppose it’s only a few drawings—“

Raven’s laughter interrupted him. “Um. No. When I said you’d inspired more people than you knew, I wasn’t kidding. Here, sit down; I’ll show you.” She flicked her fingers over the glowing object, and after he sat beside her, handed it to him. “Touch the screen like this to flip through the pictures.”

The images were each more befuddling than the last. Him in Grey Warden armor, against a stylized backdrop. Him in some sort of fur-collared coat, wearing a crown. Him dancing with some blonde girl he’d never seen in his life. Him playing with a Mabari. Him...without...a shirt...

“Um, you get the idea,” Raven interjected, grabbing the glowing thing and avoiding his eyes with a blush. “The point is, where I come from, women joke about how your wonderful fictional self has ruined them for other men.” She turned away so only her profile was visible. “So maybe now you can see why I had a hard time believing you’d want someone like me.” Her attempt to make light fell flat when he could hear the hurt in her voice.

“Hey, none of that. Look at me.” She swallowed, biting her lip, so he repeated himself. “Raven. Look at me.”

When she finally met his gaze, her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. Alistair took her hands and sent a quick prayer to the Maker that he wouldn’t screw things up. “I don’t know how to feel about all of this yet. It’s... overwhelming. But I believe you, and... and I understand why it was hard for you to tell me. And none of this changes what I said the other day. I _could_ argue it makes you even _more_ amazing, because you could easily have said this wasn’t your world, or that it wasn’t even real, and walked away. You didn’t.”

His hands around hers were unpleasantly damp from his nerves, but he took a deep breath and soldiered on. “I never had a family. The closest I’ve ever been was being friends with Cullen and traveling with Duncan, but they never... they didn’t say... w-what you said.”

Being himself, he couldn’t resist interjecting a joke. “Which is a good thing, since you know how emotional Rutherford is; he’d only have tied me down.” She snickered; she’d been around Cullen enough to know he treated emotion like an inconvenient rash.

“My point is, I don’t know much about... about, you know, love.” Alistair studied the silvered blue of her eyes in the moonlight. “But I’m willing to learn.”

The next moment went by in a blur, and he found himself holding her in his lap, with his lips pressed to hers. He couldn’t say what was more intoxicating – the kiss, or his relief that he hadn’t ruined everything. In short order, though, as he embraced her dizzying softness, and her clever tongue flicked playfully over his lips, the kiss easily won out.

Finally, they broke apart smiling, and she rested her head on his chest. He inhaled the subtle lilacs-and-rain scent of her hair. “I, um... I didn’t know how far you’d have gone, or if you’d want to go back to camp and deal with Aedan,” he said, aiming for nonchalance and failing miserably. “So I brought my bedroll.”

Raven looked up at him with humor, one eyebrow raised, and he blushed. “Not like that; I mean, I just thought if I found you, we could sleep together.” His eyes widened in horror. “I mean, we could both sleep. At the same time. In the same place. Just with the, you know, sleeping.” He looked up to the heavens, praying the earth would leap up and swallow him, as she giggled helplessly at his discomfiture. “Maker’s breath, that sounded better in my head.”

The scholar’s cool fingertips on his cheek brought his gaze back down, and her sweet smile melted his embarrassment. “I’d like that,” she said simply, then sighed. “But... I suppose we’ll have to take turns standing watch...”

As if on cue, Aedan’s Mabari trotted into the clearing... and given how intelligent the dog was, Alistair wouldn’t put it past the hound to bide his time waiting for a proper dramatic entrance. “Hohaku!” Raven greeted him. “Did you come to check on us?”

The dog gave an affirmative bark and, to their great amusement, looked back in the direction of camp and kicked dirt at it. “I take it you’re not pleased with your master either,” Alistair laughed.

Hohaku snuffed in disdain and laid his head in Raven’s lap, nudging his snout under her hand. “So, since you’re here,” she said, after scratching his ears for a while, “I don’t suppose you’d mind keeping watch, so we could get some sleep?”

The huge wardog butted the scholar’s shoulder with his head, and pointedly turned around to guard the entrance to their little glade. “You beautiful creature,” she said, “you’re the absolute best, you know that?” His woof of agreement made them both chuckle. 

In short order, Alistair cleared away the dead wolves while Raven spread his bedroll at the foot of the tree and, with her own blanket, made them a cozy little nest. They blushingly avoided each other’s gaze as they stripped off their armor, and when they were both down to linen undertunics and breeches, Raven was the first to settle in.

He stood, looking down at her with a racing heart. They were just sleeping. Sleeping was nothing to be nervous about, he told himself; he’d managed to sleep on a regular basis for a number of years. But he didn’t find the courage to move until she looked up at him with that beautiful smile of hers, and wordlessly reached out her hand.

________________________________________

“Your arm’s going to fall asleep, you know,” she said a bit later. Her head lay on his shoulder and her hand over his heart, as he faced up at the stars.

He thought about the softness of her body curled against his side. “I don’t mind.”

The soothing night sounds of the quiet forest surrounded them. And then...

“Raven?”

“Hmm?” came the drowsy reply.

“Why do you have a painting of me without a shirt on? Is that... is that a thing people do where you’re from?”

There was a pause. Her face burrowed into his shirt, warm against his chest, and it muffled her large and patently fake yawn “Ugh, so tired! Sleep now, talk later. Goodnight, Alistair.”

He grinned, feeling just a tiny bit smug beneath his embarrassment. “Goodnight, Raven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes up for the evil angsty way I ended the last chapter, lol. #sorrynotsorry Despite the misery I fling at them, I love these ridiculous dorks, so I'm glad to have a good excuse for some fluff, lol.
> 
> Also, it kills me that someone as emotion-centered as Alistair probably never had a single person tell him they loved him before this. I thought about it and realized young Wynne would've had a similar experience, up until she fell in love with Greag-um, I mean, Rhys's father. >.> Seemed she'd be a good choice to give Alistair a crash course on the basics. ;)
> 
> For a bit more fluff of Alistair and Raven drifting off to dreamland, check out "[Perchance to Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16005521)."
> 
> P.S.: I'm not usually a dog person, but Mabari are amazing. :)


	19. The Forest for the Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is adorable, Aedan is impossible, and Rob is annoyed.

_Wednesday, 6 Solace, 9:30 Dragon_

Raven woke in dawn’s first uneasy light, trying to hang onto the threads of a dream. She sighed as it vanished in a vaguely pleasant haze; she’d always been terrible at remembering dreams. She usually snapped from sleep straight into full alertness, and her mind labeled dreams as temp files to be deleted upon waking. All she remembered was that it involved Alistair—

_Alistair!_

Her bubble of calm popped like an overfilled balloon as she recalled the events of the previous night. Squinting made the large blotchy brown thing in front of her face resolve into the tree they’d slept under; she must’ve rolled over in the night. She thought about where she’d set her glasses. She thought about needing to get up soon. She definitely did _not_ think about Alistair sleeping with his arm draped over her, his breath teasing her ear, and his body curled around hers.

She _especially, absolutely_ did not think about how clear it was that he was happy to be there.

_‘And if you believe that, I’d love to sell you a sunny beachfront resort on the shores of the Storm Coast,’_ said a mocking voice inside her head.

It took a truly disconcerting amount of self-control to hold still, instead of arching back wantonly in a way that would surely wake him to new and exciting levels of embarrassment about a perfectly natural biological response. But she almost managed it.

Almost.

The delicious shiver at brushing against him was immediately countered when he shifted, muttered something unintelligible, and tugged her closer in his sleep. Wide-eyed, she struggled to keep her breathing slow and even. This was in no way aided by how his cheek cuddled against the top of her head, or how his strong forearm brushed the lower curve of one breast, or how the occasional mumbles of his gravelly morning voice rumbled through his chest into her back. Or, obviously, by how... other parts of his anatomy... were nestled elsewhere, causing her imagination to produce a vast quantity of extremely unhelpful mental imagery.

But it was all for naught. A sharp intake of breath signaled his arrival into consciousness, immediately followed by a gasp and an abrupt rush of cool morning air against the back of her shirt. Softly, he whispered, “Raven... are you awake? Sweet Andraste’s holy knickers, _please_ tell me you’re not awake...”

His fervent prayer to the Maker’s beloved prophet tipped her over the edge. She couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing.

Her mirth redoubled when she found her glasses lying atop her pack, put them on, and rolled over to see his horrified expression. As she shook with helpless giggles, his look of mortification shifted to annoyance, and finally to humor. “I guess that answers my question,” he said wryly, setting her off again.

When she finally caught her breath, he tried to awkwardly apologize for being forward. It was utterly endearing, but she hurried to reassure him. “Alistair. It’s _fine_ ; don’t worry about it. You had a normal physical reaction when you weren’t even awake. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

Because she was evil, and he was so cute when he blushed, she couldn’t help adding, “But if _you_ want to hold that normal physical reaction against _me_ sometime, just let me know.”

She kissed him on the tip of his nose as he sputtered, and still laughing, she rose to start the day.

________________________________________

The teasing camaraderie they’d maintained through packing up and heading back to camp faded when they arrived. Aedan was in the midst of taking down his tent (with more force than strictly necessary). Without looking up, he said, “Ah, the lost sheep return. Good of you to finally let us know you remain among the living. When Hohaku didn’t come back, we feared the worst, but it would seem Raven has charmed my dog nearly as well as she’s charmed my supposed comrades.”

Alistair’s arm tensed beneath Raven’s hand, but before he could leap to her defense, she did it herself. Aedan wanted to do snarky sarcasm? That was one battlefield where she was a champion.

“My goodness, Warden Cousland,” she smiled brightly. “I had no idea you possessed such skill in _pretending_ to be pleasant while _actually_ being offensive. If I didn’t know better, I’d mistake you for an Orlesian.”

The young nobleman bristled at that comparison, just as Raven intended. Fereldans held understandable animosity toward Orlais; their western neighbors had staged a bloody and prolonged attempt to annex them, finally repelled only three decades past. Alistair snickered; Aedan flushed, readying an angry retort.

Before things could escalate, Wynne intervened. “Good morning, children. There’s a bit of last night’s stew left for breakfast, but please be quick; we’ll be leaving shortly.” Chastened, the younger party members settled to their tasks, and got underway without further incident.

It was an extremely strange day.

Although they encountered hostile wildlife more frequently the further they traveled, the old forest still held that deep and heavy sense of peace found only in places rarely disturbed by man. Hohaku’s keen senses provided ample warning of any attack, and Wynne’s aura of calm competence minimized Rae’s nervousness about facing danger without her brother at her side.

It certainly didn’t hurt that Alistair was there in his stead. She made a mental note to tease Rob that she’d traded him for a tank who was more fun to ogle.

_‘And oh,’_ she thought with a smirk, as a beam of sunlight slid through the treetops to splash Alistair with a halo of golden light, _‘is he ever.’_

Strangely, the thought didn’t intimidate her as it once had. They walked arm in arm when they weren’t in combat, and between silly jokes and stories, he gazed down at her with such tender admiration... the kind of look she’d stopped expecting to see _at all_ , much less from a literal handsome prince. Having her secret in the open was a huge relief. Though their argument had twisted her in knots, their new closeness more than made up for it. She almost wondered if she should thank Aedan for his outburst the previous evening, but the other Warden’s surly glare convinced her that any hypothetical gratitude could wait.

The whole day was one pendulum swing after another. Alistair made her laugh, and Aedan growled at her for making too much noise. Alistair held her for a comforting moment after she saw her first werewolf, while Aedan jeered that real ones were clearly scarier than the pretend ones she was used to. Alistair gently helped a wounded elven hunter to reach the nearest Dalish patrol, right after Aedan blew off her advice and attacked the werewolves’ emissary on sight.

The scholar pulled off her glasses and rubbed her eyes tiredly. It didn’t seem possible to feel so elated and so annoyed at the same time. She thought wistfully about punching the future Hero of Ferelden, which was surreal – not only because of his importance to all of Thedas, but also because he was a fictional character she had herself played in the past.

Less obnoxiously, she hoped.

Cursed with the need to see every argument from all sides, Raven grew increasingly preoccupied with unraveling Aedan’s inexplicable hostility. She was distracted enough that when they stumbled upon a pleasant little camp with the still-warm embers of a cheery fire, it took Hohaku’s low growl to jog her memory. “Wait,” she cautioned the others. “It’s a trap.” A shadow flitted across her face as she remembered there was only one other person in this world who’d recognize her silly pop culture references.

“Maker’s _balls_ , Raven, do you have to pretend there’s some big significance to _everything_?” he exploded. “It’s just a campsite, by the Void!” The Mabari continued to growl with his hackles raised, and the Warden added, “And _you’re_ just taking _her_ side again, so you can shove off.” With a reproachful glance, the dog trotted away to lie down beneath a nearby tree with an air of injured dignity.

“Aedan, I’m serious; I recognize this. It’s not _real_ ; it’s an illusion made by a demon to lure in victims. Think. Doesn’t it seem weird that the werewolves would just leave all this stuff lying out here?” Alistair and Wynne were yawning and blinking, trying to fight off the magical drowsiness coming from the cozy tent, and at her words, they stepped away. But Aedan stubbornly remained seated near the fire.

With a helpless glance at the others, Raven moved to the Warden’s side. “Look, I know you’re pissed at me right now. I’m not your biggest fan either. But I’m not making this up. It’s not _safe_ here.”

He eyed her with sleepy irritation. “You must be mistaken. There’s nothing wrong here. It’s... fine...”

And suddenly, she couldn’t remember why she’d objected. She sat beside Aedan, trying to remember what had been so important, but she couldn’t hang onto her thoughts...

...until she was roused by an unholy screech, and the sight of Wynne freezing a demon solid before Alistair smashed it into a million sparkling pieces. She rose abruptly, dislodging Aedan’s head from where he’d fallen asleep against her shoulder. Even though she’d expected it, she still shuddered to see the tidy campsite suddenly revealed as a cobwebbed heap of scoured bones.

The young Warden’s green eyes were wide with horror as he looked up at her. Without a word, she stalked off to make camp in a safer locale.

________________________________________

“I suppose you’re waiting to say ‘I told you so,’” he said bitterly, a short while later. Hohaku had stayed to guard Wynne while she nullified all remnants of the demon’s ambush. Alistair was gathering firewood (very carefully; good conservation skills were a must in a magic forest where the trees could come to life and object). Raven and Aedan were left to set up camp.

She sighed wearily. “What do you _want_ me to say, Aedan? Should I say I’m sorry for mouthing off this morning? Yeah, okay, I probably should. You were being an ass, but I didn’t need to join in, so I’m sorry. Does that help? Or should I apologize for being a useless tagalong, trying to justify my presence with advice you won’t even listen to anyway? Should I beg forgiveness for _making friends with your fucking dog?_ You tell _me_ what you want me to say. Because this little dance is getting real old, real quick.”

Frustration bled into her voice as she spoke, and their gazes clashed in challenge... until all at once, his face crumpled in misery and he turned away. It caught her by surprise. “Whoa, hey... are you okay?”

He gave a mirthless laugh as she came around to sit beside him in the grass. “Oh yes. Fantastic.”

She mentally kicked herself. _‘Ugh, someday I’ll learn to stop asking that stupid question.’_ Aloud, she said, “Sorry, what I meant was... what’s wrong?”

“What _isn’t_?” The pain in his emerald eyes was haunting. “I... ugh, just forget it. You aren’t interested in listening to me whinge about my lot.”

“If I didn’t want to know, I wouldn’t ask.”

Shrugging, the young Warden studied the earth at his feet. “You know,” he said finally, “you say you’re useless, but our companions beg to differ. Alistair is smitten, obviously,” he snorted. “But the others as well. Wynne, Leliana, Zevran... even Sten drops his ‘humans are imbeciles’ attitude when he speaks with you. _You_ aren’t the useless one.”

“Oh? Who is, then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Well, yeah, but Morrigan is bound to come in handy eventually,” she joked, hoping to lift his melancholy.

His smile was tinged with sadness. “You said in the story you knew, someone else would’ve been with Alistair at Ostagar, if I hadn’t been. Right?”

She nodded. “It could’ve been former dwarven royalty or a casteless criminal, a Dalish elf or one from Denerim’s alienage, or a mage from Kinloch.”

The young Warden was quiet for a long moment. “You probably know Duncan visited us in Highever before all this began, recruiting for the Wardens. He mentioned me, but dropped it at Father’s first objection.” The Warden’s striking green eyes searched her face. “But he made the templars let Alistair compete in a tournament he wasn’t even supposed to be in, fought the Revered Mother over recruiting him, and finally invoked the Right of Conscription when she wouldn’t relent. I clearly didn’t merit that kind of effort.”

Raven frowned. “That’s not—“

“I begged to go to Ostagar with Fergus and our soldiers, but Father wouldn’t allow that either. He wanted me to stay in Highever, playing at teyrnship... not because I was ever meant to hold the job, but in hopes that a taste of responsibility would ‘settle me down.’ So, Fergus left, and I remained.”

His shoulders slumped, and he looked away. “I remained... and Father was hurt fighting his way to me. Mother fought off pursuit to give me time to flee. They _died_.” The Warden’s normally smooth voice was hoarse with grief, and it hurt her heart. “If I hadn’t been so... so _worthless_ , I’d have left with Duncan or Fergus, and my parents could’ve saved _themselves_ instead of throwing their lives away. They were heroes of the war with Orlais. There were _songs_ written about them, for Andraste’s sake. I’m just a disappointing second son.” His jaw clenched. “What a fucking waste. The supposed savior of Ferelden should’ve been one of those other people. They certainly couldn’t do a worse job than I have.”

She sighed, thinking, _‘If I really were a scholar here, I could write a whole dissertation on survivor’s guilt.’_ In that moment, he seemed younger than his years. It reminded her of times past, when Rob would come to her with his troubles, so without thought, Raven tugged him down to rest with his head in her lap, facing away from her so she could gently stroke his hair. Surprisingly, he allowed it, which gave her some insight on just how bad he felt.

“Aedan, I know this is hard to believe right now, but no one could do this better than you.” At his snort of disbelief, she protested, “I mean it. Do you really think an elf from Denerim’s slums would’ve been better at handling an arlessa? Or that a dwarf who’d never seen the sun before would’ve fit right in with the Dalish?” He gave a noncommittal shrug, and she continued, “The situation would suck for anyone. Trying to keep moving forward after your life has changed forever...” Rae’s voice choked at the memory of all the family and friends lost to her, but she shoved her own inconvenient feelings aside. “The thing is though... what’s really bothering you isn’t being as good as Alistair or some hypothetical other Warden.”

Aedan turned his head slightly to look back at her from the corner of his eye. “Oh? And what is it, then?”

“Being good enough to deserve your parents’ sacrifice.”

He looked away and said nothing.

“You want to know the truth? You _can’t. No one_ could. Being so great that you deserve someone willingly laying down their life for you? It’s impossible.” Her gentle hand on his shoulder tilted him back enough to meet her gaze. “But they didn’t protect you because you were Son of the Year or had some grand destiny. They did it because they loved you, and getting you to safety meant more to them than their own lives. And I believe if they had the choice to make over again, they’d do the exact same thing.”

Tears pooled in the Warden’s emerald eyes before sliding down to dampen her tunic. “They shouldn’t.”

“That’s an opinion – one I don’t share, for the record – but at any rate, it’s done. You can’t go back and take their sacrifice from them. All you can do is remember the cost of your journey and use it to strengthen your resolve to become a man the ‘Soldier and the Seawolf’ of legend would be proud to call their son.”

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly. “Mother always hated that song.”

Raven chuckled. “That’s the one enemy no hero can ever defeat; overzealous minstrels. Though really, what did she expect, captaining a raiding vessel and gaining such an imposing nickname? Your father never stood a chance.” Aedan laughed softly, rubbing at his eyes, and she added, “See, that’s where you’re smart for planning ahead. Date the bard, get input on the lyrics.” As he sat up, laughing harder, she gave him a cheeky wink and a quick hug around the shoulders.

“Hey, Raven?”

“Yeah?”

“I... I’m sorry. For being an arse.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to dealing with obnoxious little brothers.” Her grin widened as she saw Alistair returning to camp with firewood. “Besides, I got to spend some quality time with this one hot guy I like, so it all worked out.” The bronze-haired Warden raised an eyebrow, and she giggled.

________________________________________

“So,” Alistair teased, when they went for a short walk after supper, “what sort of tantrum must I throw, to get to lay my head in your lap like our fearless leader?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Spying, were you? I thought that was Leliana’s hobby.”

“I had enough firewood, but it sounded like he needed to talk, so I went to check on Wynne and came back.” He leaned back against a broad oak tree, and after a moment to build his nerve, pulled her in against his chest. “Did it help, do you think?”

“I hope so.” She tucked her head under his chin, contentment soaking into her bones. “You know, I always thought of the Hero’s companions as being there to help him fight, and they do... but I’m starting to think they’re even more important for helping him _cope_ with the whole thing.”

“Mmm,” he agreed, and she felt the sound against her cheek as his hands ghosted lightly over her back. “But you still haven’t answered my first question. Is there a special request process for lap access? Some sort of queue I need to join, perhaps?”

Rae laughed at his playful flirting, swatting him lightly, but then grew serious. “No, no need to stand in line... but...” She looked up at him nervously. “From the story I’m familiar with, I know you haven’t, ah... spent a lot of time in women’s laps, if you catch my meaning.”

He instantly went scarlet, which would’ve been funny if she hadn’t been so tense. “Maker’s breath,” he muttered. “I... well, no, I suppose not. Living in the Chantry, is... not exactly a life for rambunctious boys. They taught me to be a gentleman, especially in the presence of beautiful women such as yourself. That’s not so bad, is it?”

Hearing his game dialogue word for word was, as always, surreal. “No! No, not at all. I just...” Her blue eyes searched his face. “I, uh... let’s just say, there’s no queue for my lap right now, but it’s been... um, quite busy at certain times in the past.” She bit her lip worriedly. “Is that... does it bother you?”

The concern and confusion ebbed from his eyes, and he chuckled. “No, of course not. Why would it?” He gave her a blushing wink. “If anything, it’s a relief. At least one of us will know what to do with laps, hmm?”

Relieved, she kissed him soundly, and then gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, you have no idea.”

________________________________________

_Sunday, 17 Solace, 9:30 Dragon_

“I can’t believe you left me behind when there was gonna be a _dragon_.” Rob’s voice dripped with reproach. Do you have any idea what I went through here, while you were off doing the cool stuff?”

She snickered. “I take it all did not go smoothly?”

“Well let’s see... Sten told some kid that if he wasn’t capable of proving himself as a hunter, he wasn’t worthy of his girlfriend. Given that Zevran was banging her at the time, I’m thinking hunting skills probably weren’t the main problem. Morrigan told the clan’s storyteller his version of elven history was wrong, and then nearly got us all killed when she got busted studying some old book in the Keeper’s house-wagon-thing. Aravel. Whatever. Even Leliana was pissing off the halla shepherd, because she kept trying to hop the fence to pet the pretty white deersies. Keeper Zathrian, a.k.a. Bald Elrond, took off not long after you guys did, so it’s been like two weeks of getting called a shem and waiting to be shanked in my sleep. And you can stop laughing right now, you jerk.”

Raven’s hand over her mouth could not conceal her mirth at her brother’s annoyed recitation of events. “Sorry, sorry,” she giggled, aiming for contrite and missing completely. “Would it make you feel better to know that Bald Elrond finally had to ‘fess up to his part in the whole thing? He cast the spell that made the werewolves in the first place, and since it was made with his blood and the blood of the werewolves’ leader, ending the curse killed them both. But they agreed to it, so at least the Dalish are free of the whole mess.” She decided to forgo a description of the werewolves’ leader. Rob might forgive her for missing out on the dragon, but she didn’t want to press her luck by describing the dryad-like Lady of the Forest and her clothing of a few strategically placed twigs.

“Good; I’m more than ready to put this friendly little tribe in the rearview. Oh, there was one good thing about being stuck here. Leliana got talking about messenger birds, and Morrigan was bored, so between them and the Keeper’s assistant, they made this spell for enhancing messenger birds. They fly faster and farther, they’re smart enough to be sent to various places, and (here’s the kicker) they can even be spelled to hone in on a specific person. They only used it once so far, but it’s pretty amazing. Morrigan thought it was funny to design the spell specifically for ravens, but she was less amused when Leliana declared the first one to be adorable and named it Baron Plucky.”

She grinned broadly. “Aha, so that’s how Leli gets her ravens! I’d always wondered. That’s awesome!”

“Yeah, it’s pretty badass. We even got our first official mail out here in La-la-land.” He handed her a pair of much folded missives, and she eagerly began to read.

_Sunday, 17 Solace, 9:30 Dragon_

_Lady Raven of Markham:_

_I trust this missive finds you well. As you requested, I am writing with an update on the mage-child, Shanna, and my personal health (though the latter is most assuredly unnecessary)._

_Shanna has begun lessons with the other apprentices. She is making greater progress in her reading and writing with the assistance of young Connor Guerrin, as you hoped. I regret to note she orders him about with her customary imperiousness. However, he seems to benefit from her guidance, so I have not yet deemed it necessary to intervene._

_As for myself, I have at last resumed training. Thus far my exertions are limited to exercise without weapons work, but it is only a matter of time. Any difficulties I had with sleeping or unease are under control, and you need not concern yourself with them further._

_I wish to again convey my sincere gratitude for your assistance with my recovery. I grew fond of the painting of the lake in the infirmary, and asked the Knight-Commander for permission to move it to my regular quarters. First Enchanter Irving overheard, and said you were the one who’d requested it, having asked the Tranquil to locate such a painting while I was unconscious and hang it there for my benefit. Your thoughtfulness has been a great comfort._

_The Knight-Commander considered transferring me to a small Chantry in Greenfell, that I might have more pleasant environs for healing. I explained I had given you my word to monitor Shanna, and wished to remain. He understood. I shall remain at Kinloch for the foreseeable future._

_In the Maker’s light,_

_Ser Cullen Rutherford_

_P.S.: Please convey my regards to Alistair._

Raven laughed. “You know,” she told Rob, “it’s impressive, in a way, how he manages to imbue every single sentence with ‘this is stupid and I don’t want to be doing it,’ even when he’s saying thank you.”

“Isn’t it, though? That Captain Goldilocks. What a charmer,” he grinned. “But check out the other letter.”

She unfolded the other scrap of paper to find a broad and childish hand, misspellings and backwards letters scratched out... and she was delighted.

_~~Lade~~ Lady Raven_

_this is the ~~frist~~ first letter I ever write. Connor ~~hlp~~ helped me with how too spell but I wrote by myself. class is ok. Ser Cullen is ~~grumpey~~ grumpy but I make him eat lunch and we are done with the book ~~abowt~~ about ~~grifens~~ griffons. (spelling is a pain!) i miss you after the wardens save us you will visit?_

_love SHANNA_

_(also hug Ser Rob for me)_

This time, when her eyes met Rob’s, they were suspiciously misty. “That kid, honestly.”

“Right?”

“Guess I better hug you, huh? I wouldn’t dare disappoint Shanna.”

He laughed and wrapped her in a bear hug. “I’m glad you’re back, by the way. Even if you’re almost as much of a pain as spelling is.”

“I missed you too,” she chuckled. “Though Aedan helped out by filling in as bratty little brother.”

“Oh? And how about the other members of your little group?” With a nod of his head, he indicated where Alistair stood with Aedan and the clan’s new Keeper. When she glanced over, the bronze-haired warrior met her gaze, and he lit up with a smile that warmed her all the way to her toes.

She only looked away when she heard Rob chuckle. “Good. We’re definitely good,” she blushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided it was time for Aedan to redeem himself, at least a little. And Raelistair are getting so cute. <3
> 
> Poor Rob did not enjoy his vacation with the Dalish, lol. But at least Leli's ravens acquired an origin story, so that's fun. :D
> 
> And I miss you too, Shanna, you adorable little thing.
> 
> This is my Wednesday update. Yes, it is nearly 3 AM where I live, but I haven't been to bed yet, so it still counts as Wednesday, because I say so. :P


	20. A Bird in the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rob thinks about relationships and gets drunk, not necessarily in that order.

_ Sunday, Solace 17th, 930 _

_Dear Shanna-bug,_

_Raven and I were happy to get your letter. We just visited the Dalish elves. They were interesting, but not very friendly. They did take us back to South Reach in a wagon pulled by halla, though. The halla are—_

“That’s not right,” the scholar interrupted, reading over his shoulder from atop the nearest bale of hay. 

They’d camped in a cozy barn on the road from South Reach to Denerim; the farmholders had initially been wary, but relaxed when Leliana said they had their own provisions and offered to pray a blessing over their lands. Given the hint of late summer chill seeping into the air, everyone was pleased to be inside.

“What do you mean, it’s not right?” Rob frowned. “It’s not ‘Raven and me’ – that sounds weird.”

“No,” she laughed. “Your sentence is fine. I meant the date is wrong. Well, it’s written wrong, anyway.”

“... huh?”

After confirming their companions were out of earshot, she explained. “It should be day, date, month, year, and age. So, Sunday, 17 Solace, 9:30 Dragon.”

Rob eyed his sister with scorn. “Really? I’m learning a whole new calendar, and you’re critiquing my formatting? Should I stab myself with this stupid quill when I’m done, so you can make corrections in red?”

“Yes, thanks; that would be helpful,” she quipped, then grinned. “Sorry, I’m not trying to be a pain. It’s just better to blend in with everyone else.” He sighed, nodding. “If it helps, be glad you’re figuring this out now. Next month is called August, which is roughly like our September, but starts with All Soul’s Day – basically Halloween. How’s that for confusing?”

He blinked. She laughed. He glared. She giggled harder. The cycle was interrupted when Alistair’s shadow fell across them. “Oh, sorry, I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Raven smiled dreamily and reached up to take the Warden’s hand, tugging him down to sit beside her on the hay. “Never.” Clearly forgetting whatever he’d come to say, he melted into an Alistair-shaped puddle, cupping her cheek in his palm and gazing at her like she was north and his eyes were magnets.

_‘Ugh,’_ thought Rob. _‘Dear Shanna, Rae’s finally dating that Warden you thought was her boyfriend, and they are so cute it’s nauseating. Please send help.’_ But it was a half-hearted grumble at best. The broken shadow was gone from behind Raven’s eyes; Alistair was a good guy and seemed just as smitten. As much as Rob teased them, he genuinely loved seeing them happy. So, he focused on his letter and pretended not to notice some dude making out with his sister.

For a while, anyway. “All right, all right. Break it up, you two, before I lose my lunch over here.”

The pair separated abruptly, Alistair flushing crimson and Raven demonstrating the official big sister glare of death. He smiled and gave her a jaunty wave, unfazed.

“Ahem ... um, yes, right. Sorry. I came to see if you wanted to join everyone for cards, but I got, ah ... distracted.” The Warden coughed, relaxing slightly when Rob merely chuckled and shook his head.

“Distracted, huh? You don’t say.”

“They’re playing cards?” Rae pointedly ignored him.

“Aedan bought a deck of cards in South Reach. When we got permission to camp here, he said since we’re safely indoors, we could all use a night to relax. He’s trying to talk everyone into a game of Wicked Grace.”

An unexpected smirk crossed his sister’s face. “Wicked Grace, huh? Too bad I don’t know how to play; I could’ve taught Cullen when I was at Kinloch.”

“Oh, he already knows,” Alistair said. “We learned when we were recruits. Being Cullen, he found a book about it and learned the rules backwards and forwards. All a waste though; he’s _terrible_ at it.”

Rae snickered. “Some things never change, then.” At their inquisitive looks, she clarified. “Many years from now Cullen gets drawn into a game of Wicked Grace. He’s so confident he bets his clothing ... and ends up having to run back to his quarters naked.”

Alistair burst out laughing. “Oh, Maker. That sounds about right. He saw it as a strategy exercise like chess, when half the game is bluffing your opponents. Any time someone would be caught cheating – which is a given in Wicked Grace – he’d be appalled and grumble about upholding the honor of the templars. I was never _good_ at it, but Rutherford was _awful_.” His smile faded. “We’ve been so busy, I forgot to ask ... how do you think he’s doing? I wanted to see him before we left Kinloch, but he was still too ill for visitors.”

Raven’s nervous glance to her brother and back didn’t go unnoticed, and Alistair’s brow furrowed. “What? What aren’t you telling me?”

She sighed. “I meant to explain this sooner, but ... Cullen wasn’t too sick for visitors. He just wasn’t ready to see _you_.”

Hurt and confusion warred in the Warden’s golden eyes. “But ... why – what do you mean?”

“Okay, so ... Rob, can you tell Alistair about what you saw when you were trapped by the sloth demon?”

With a shrug, he related the story, managing not to look around for Morrigan when he described his cozy morning with Hawke. “So,” he finished, “my mom was making breakfast, talking about how you and Rae were coming over later, when Aedan showed up.”

“Okay, but what does that have to do with Cullen?”

Rae’s eyes were serious and sad. “When Rob was in the Fade, the demon searched his mind for people he cared about, to use their images against him. When Cullen was fighting off the desire demons, they did something similar, using a mage named Solona Amell, and ... and you.”

Alistair’s eyes grew wide in horror as the blood drained from his face. “You ... you’re telling me ... one of the few true friends I have in this world ... spent nearly a month seeing my face while he was ... t-tortured?”

Misery pooled in his sister’s eyes as she nodded. “He knows it wasn’t real, that you would never do anything to hurt him. He does know that, Alistair,” she hurried to add. “He knows it’s not your fault, and he doesn’t hold it against you at all. He’s just ... he wasn’t quite ready to see you yet.”

The tall Warden slid off the hay and landed on the wooden floor with a soft thump. The shaking hand that flew to his mouth failed to conceal his shock and dismay. “That’s why he flinched away when I tried to help him that day ... he saw me and –“

Distressed by Alistair’s reaction, Rae looked to Rob for help, so he made an attempt. “Alistair, you didn’t know. Your friend understood that, because he let us both help him down the tower, remember? He obviously doesn’t blame you.”

The other man glanced at him blankly, before turning back to his sister. “What did I do to him?”

“You didn’t do anything; he knows that. He—“

“Raven.” He was more serious than Rob had ever seen him. _“What did I do?”_

She swallowed, unheeded tears trickling unchecked down her cheeks. “I don’t know.” At his frown, she protested, “I really don’t! I didn’t ask for details, and he wouldn’t have been willing or able to give them if I had. But ... you saw some of his physical injuries; Wynne could tell you more. And ...” She bit her lip; her reluctance to continue was palpable. “And the desire demons also did their best to break him in ... other ways. I don’t know exactly how ... but from the few things he said, and his fear of being touched, I can make some educated guesses.”

The Warden’s usually tanned complexion had faded to a greenish pallor. “You mean he – that they made him believe I was –” Abruptly, he rose and lurched out into the deepening twilight. Sharing a helpless glance with her brother, Raven followed.

_‘Well, shit,’_ he thought. He looked back at the letter he’d started, but the happy anecdotes he’d meant to relate all fled from his thoughts. With a sigh, he stood and headed for the warm circle of flickering lantern light where their other companions sat. His interest perked when Aedan took a swig from an unfamiliar bottle before passing it to Leliana. Right now, he could use a drink. “So ... I hear we’re playing cards.”

Leliana smiled as he sat down beside her, and passed him the bottle. The clear liquid had a slightly bluish tint, almost a glow ... and smelled like it could strip paint. “What is this?”

“Legacy White Shear,” Aedan said with relish. “It’s famously rare, but a man in South Reach was raising money to evacuate, so he parted with it. And who better to consume such fine drink than a company of heroes fighting to save the world? Bottoms up!”

Rob tipped the bottle back ... and fought the urge to choke. With watering eyes, he croaked, “Smooth.”

The bard laughed merrily. “They say it gets that glow from aging in a barrel bound with lyrium. I don’t know if that’s true, but it would explain the potency, no?”

Shaking his head, Rob passed the bottle to his right, but Wynne declined. “Thank you, dear, but I’ve had far too many lyrium potions in my life to find that taste pleasant.” Then she surprised him by pulling out a flask. “Besides, for getting good and drunk, I prefer Mackay's; it’s smoother, easier to come by, and leaves one with less of a hangover.”

Zevran reached across Wynne for the bottle. “I enjoyed a great many varieties of drink in my time as a Crow – people have a charming habit of lavishing you with gifts when they fear you may kill them – but I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure of this one. Cheers.” And he swallowed a gulp of the stuff without so much as flinching. _‘Show-off,’_ thought Rob.

Sten also waved away the bottle. “I will not consume alcohol while on a mission from the Arishok.” He paused, then added, “Besides, no weak southern spirit would be comparable to our Maraas-Lok.” Aedan just rolled his eyes and held out his hand for the bottle.

Morrigan was, as usual, nowhere to be seen. _‘Guess she’s not much of a joiner,’_ he thought.

After taking another satisfied sip of whiskey, Aedan grinned. “So ... who’s ready for Wicked Grace?”

________________________________________

When Raven and Alistair returned an hour or two later, he was starting to get the hang of the game. (Or possibly he was drunk enough not to care; it was hard to say.) They seemed to have regained most of their calm and their pervasive cotton-candy aura. “Shall I deal you both in?” Aedan asked.

“Maybe just Alistair for now,” Rae said, as they found room to sit. “I can watch him play to learn the rules.”

Leliana’s impish grin promised even more trouble tipsy than when she was sober. “That is a good idea,” she said. “Though it will work best if you sit where you can see his cards clearly. In his lap, for instance.”

Rob burst out laughing along with Aedan and Zevran, and even Wynne chuckled when the pair froze, blushing. But Alistair surprised everyone by clearing his throat to say, “Well yes, I suppose that makes sense.”

His sister turned pinker. “Breathe, Rae,” he snickered. “It’ll kill the mood if you pass out from lack of air.”

She glared, and Zevran smirked. “You are fortunate, my friend, that your sister’s eyes cannot kill, or I fear you would be the one to cease breathing.”

Raven looked up into the rafters and took a deep breath, before surveying them in turn. “I want you to know I hate you all,” she said in a conversational tone, setting them off again. But when Alistair sat and extended a hand to her, she settled between his knees without further comment.

As their mirth subsided, Rob watched his sister and her new boyfriend try (and fail) to hide how pleased they were for the excuse to snuggle. Leliana grinned as she passed along the half-empty bottle, before leaning back against Aedan in a boneless sprawl.

And suddenly, Rob thought of Marian Hawke.

Later, after the card game broke up and everyone was settling down to sleep, Morrigan finally returned from wherever she’d gone. She paused by his bedroll.

“In my survey of this drab little farmstead, I discovered a pleasantly secluded outbuilding. I could show you, if you like.” The purr in her tone made her intent clear.

Rob heard himself reply, “I’m not feeling so great right now. I think I’m just going to go to sleep.”

The mage nodded coolly and walked away.

________________________________________

_ Friday, 21 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

_Dear Shanna-bug,_

_I’m glad you liked the halla picture. I never thought a big gray dude with a sword would draw like that, but it turns out Sten has a secret thing for art._

_We made it to your home town today. Denerim is a lot bigger than I expected, almost like cities back home (except it smells bad in new ways). We found what we came for, first thing. You can tell your friend we’ll have his dad feeling better in no time._

“’Better in no time?’ ‘Tis so _very_ optimistic of you ... when we have yet to prove the ashes of the Chantry’s so-called prophet even _exist_.” Morrigan perched on the table near his elbow.

Rob shrugged, stretching. “Rae seems to think this Brother Jenny-whatsit ... Genetivi, right? She thinks this Genetivi knows his stuff, and if he says he’s on the trail of Andraste’s ashes, he probably is.”

“Yes, well, your _dear_ sister also thinks Alistair has more wit than a turnip, which is plainly not the case. You’ll forgive me if I don’t leap with joy at her assessment.”

“Too bad they aren’t around to hear that. I always enjoy the friendly chats you three have,” he smirked.

For the moment, the Chantry scholar’s home was empty save the two of them. When they’d arrived in Denerim, they’d found Genetivi’s house, only to learn he was gone and a thug had killed his assistant. Once they dispatched the intruder, Aedan decided they might as well bunk there to avoid undue attention so near to Loghain’s bailiwick.

“Yes, where have all our delightful comrades gone, dare I ask?”

He hid a grin at the witch’s feigned indifference, rising to stand between her knees. “Zev and Sten are ditching corpses – our little friend from earlier, and Genetivi’s actual assistant, dead long before we got here, the poor bastard. Leliana went to follow up on those assassins her ex-girlfriend sent after her, with Aedan, Wynne, and the dog for backup. And Alistair took Rae to meet some chick who might be his sister.”

“How quaint. Both sets of lovebirds are paired off on various adventures. At this rate, I begin to wonder if even the Qunari and the elf are fonder of one another than they would have us believe.”

Rob chuckled as his hands slid up her thighs. “Aw, what’s wrong, pookie? Are you jealous they’re all out on the town with their sweethearts?”

Did he imagine the split-second pause before her customary scorn settled into place?

No ... no, that wasn’t possible. Morrigan was crystal clear about her disdain for sentiment and attachment. Most of their ... encounters ... were purely physical. When they spoke at all, he tried to aggravate her (by calling her pookie, for example), and she ridiculed his attempts. To imagine something more – he didn’t know what to even do with that. Especially since Rae insisted Morrigan, Zevran, and Sten were not to learn of their true origin. “Zevran has to prove he won’t go back to the Crows; after that, maybe. But Sten will eventually have a position of power among his people, and I don’t want to cause some surprise Qunari invasion of southern Thedas,” she’d said. “And Morrigan ... Morrigan keeps enough secrets as it is. She doesn’t need ours.”

Unable to process the idea of the aloof witch showing emotion, he changed the subject. “I’m surprised _you’re_ still here. I figured you’d be off exploring.”

“I ... have never visited a city of this size before,” she dissembled. So many people crowd upon one another, like rats swarming over carrion. Come to think of it, ‘tis also an apt comparison for the stench. I have seen my fill for today, at any rate.”

He regarded her curiously. “Do you miss the wilderness? It must be overwhelming, spending most of your life in the woods nearly alone, and then suddenly you’re with a bunch of strangers in the middle of a giant city.”

“I – yes, I suppose,” she replied, unbalanced by his sudden empathy. Moved by an impulse he couldn’t name, he leaned forward to kiss her ... but instead of their usual aggressive passion, his lips on hers were gentle, even comforting ... to match the way his arms enclosed her, as if to guard her from the dizzying press of the Denerim crowds.

When at last he pulled away to see her face, her wolf-yellow eyes were a tumult of warring emotions. The carnality she wore like a mask was pierced with confusion and anger at being exposed to the tender sentimentality she scorned – but through the cracks, perhaps, was a woman who showed only cold because she’d never known warmth.

They were spared from deciding how to proceed when their companions returned. Alistair, Raven, and Leliana all looked as though their errands had left them as troubled as Morrigan and Rob were. But the real surprise was finding they hadn’t come back alone.

The grubby elf child couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and all she had in common with Shanna was her accent. Ragged clothes hung off her thin frame, and her straw yellow hair looked as if it had been cut with a particularly dull knife. She stood with her back to the wall, arms folded and glaring sullenly. The fear and loathing she displayed toward either of the mages was disturbing on so young a visage.

“We’d stopped to do a bit of shopping, and our guest had the poor judgment to try picking my pocket,” Leliana said. The mild disapproval in her voice earned an answering scowl from the child. “She would not say where she lived or who her parents were, so I was deciding what to do with her when Raven and Alistair happened by. The child agreed to join us once Raven observed _we_ meant no harm, but the same might not be said of the city guard.” The bard’s head tilted inquisitively. “I admit I am eager to find out what makes our little urchin so worthy of note ...?”

A secretive smile played across Rae’s lips. “I have a hunch she might know a friend of ours.”

“Oh?” Rob’s eyebrow rose skeptically. “Who?”

In answer, Rae turned to the girl. “What’s your name?”

After a stubborn silence, she reluctantly mumbled, “It’s Sera, not that it’s any business of yours.”

Raven’s grin widened. “Thought so.”

Rob’s jaw dropped. “Wait, you don’t mean this is –“ At his sister’s nod, he addressed the child. “We know someone at Kinloch, might be a friend of yours. Dark-haired elven girl, little older than you, named Shanna.”

Sera’s blatant shock was chased across her face by relief and wariness in rapid succession. “She’s all right, then? Figured after the fire she was done for. ‘Specially with those bloody mage powers. Creepy.”

“She’s doing a lot better now, and she’ll be glad to know we saw you.”

“If you know Shanna, I certainly cannot turn you in to the guard,” Leliana announced. “And you must join us for dinner. It is the least we can do for the friend of our ally.” Given the mouth-watering aromas emanating from the kitchen, the child was quick to agree.

In short order, the rest of the group returned and gathered around Brother Genetivi’s long dining table. With great patience and effort, Wynne had even convinced the grubby child to bathe for the occasion. Sera’s restless gaze took in everything, and while the huge, exotic Qunari garnered his share of attention, her eyes most often landed on Leliana’s fine longbow.

Once they’d finished eating, Leliana frowned. “It is growing late, but ... Sera, do you have a place to go?”

The scholar spoke up. “I heard she stays with some ... Friends. One named Jenny, right?” Rob hid a smirk at the bard’s confusion and the child’s astonishment. Sera was fated to join a Robin Hood-esque organization called the Friends of Red Jenny, and it appeared her association with them had already begun.

“I ... uh – yeah, I got a place. Not far.”

The redhead relaxed. “Good. Though I hope this Jenny will help you find a better cause than picking pockets.”

“Oh, I think that’s a safe bet,” Rae said with a mischievous smirk. “Sera, you keep looking at Leliana’s bow. Have you had the chance to use one before?”

Sera shrugged, examining her fingernails. “Elves ain’t s’posed to ‘ave weapons ...” she evaded.

Leliana’s nose twitched with humor, and she heaved a fake sigh. “Hmm, true; that is a shame. I was planning to set up targets in the cellar to practice tomorrow, and I thought I might offer to teach you some tricks. But if you are not interested ...”

“Really? You mean it?” She nearly vibrated with excitement.

Leliana smiled. “I mean it.”

Raven just grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That sneaky witch-thief, always throwing a wrench into the works!
> 
> I had another "Ugh, I'm such a terrible person" writer moments when wrote the bit explaining Cullen's situation. Poor Alibear. :( Luckily everyone's favorite amateur therapist, Raven, was on the job, lol. If you're curious how their conversation went, check out "[Foresight](http://archiveofourown.org/works/16160522)."
> 
> I really hesitated about putting Sera in there, but given how she always evades the question of who trained her in archery, the idea of having Leliana provide inspiration was just too tempting to resist.
> 
> As always, I hope you all enjoyed it and I'm looking forward to hearing what you thought! :D


	21. Satisfaction Brought It Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Morrigan's curiosity leads to unpleasant revelations.

_ Sunday, 24 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

A large black cat strolled through a shadowed alley in Denerim, pausing outside Brother Genetivi’s cellar window. It stared unblinkingly through the thick, wavy glass, wetting a dainty paw and smoothing the silken fur atop its graceful head. The room beyond was swathed in darkness that would’ve been impenetrable—to human eyes; the feline could see clearly, and was satisfied with the view. With a strong nudge, it shoved the window open and slid inside.

Nimbly, it leapt to the earthen floor, its yellow eyes scanning the area. Shelves lined the walls. Some held books of every imaginable language and description, while others were crammed with the sort of non-perishable foodstuffs solicitous female parishioners might press upon a bachelor Chantry brother ... provided he was also a famous scholar with a reputation for travel and adventure who’d written a number of bestselling books.

Desks and tables had been shoved to one side, their angles barely visible in the dim light. At the far end of the room, several messy bales of straw had been festooned with bits of scrap paper bearing target circles or sloppily drawn faces. The holes dotting this dubious artwork indicated its earlier use for archery practice, but at this late hour, all was quiet.

This suited the cat. Striding further into the room the sleek-furred creature turned in a circle, planted its feet and ... shimmered, like a haze above a desert road, kissed with flashes of heat lightning. When it subsided, the cat had vanished, and in its spot was the pale, lithe figure of a yellow-eyed woman, not a single black hair out of place.

From the darkest corner of the room, a purring Antivan lilt emerged, rich with amusement. “Ah,” said Zevran. “The witch returns. I wondered how you managed to disappear from our midst so easily, until I found that window unlatched. I am pleased to see my suspicions were correct.”

“My my, isn’t someone full of himself? I took no pains to hide my departure, so ‘tis rather presumptuous to praise yourself so vigorously, is it not?” Morrigan’s half-smile was coated with venom. “Although I suppose you _must_ handle your own ... _praise_ ... now that your little bespectacled plaything has turned her fickle fancy to that fool, Alistair—and after you made her sing for you so prettily, too! Tsk tsk, the ingratitude. How very sad for you.”

To her annoyance, the assassin merely chuckled. “On the contrary, I find myself quite charmed by their budding romance. But if you are so concerned about my well-being, you are more than welcome to examine me as closely as you desire. For a beauty such as yours, my lovely sorceress, I am ever at your disposal.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I think not; I know as much of you as I need to. I know when you are indulging in pointless flattery, for instance.”

“Ah, but it is flattery only if I exaggerate the truth to please you. I am but stating a simple fact.” He sauntered closer, displaying a shocking disregard for life and limb by wielding his gaze like a caress ... though to be fair, the man rarely wore an expression that did _not_ radiate sex. He dispensed his leering brand of sensuality on all and sundry, even the foolish old Circle mage and the dour Qunari.

“Your heavy-handed flirtations are tiresome, as always. What, pray tell, do you hope to accomplish with these pointless exercises?” She examined her fingernails before glancing back up, the picture of boredom.

“I find myself curious, o magical temptress. Your dislike of our sweet scholar is well-known ... but what of your feelings for her beloved brother, hmm?”

Morrigan stilled, with a glare so icy it stole the warmth from the room. “Have a care, elf. How he and I entertain ourselves is none of your concern.”

“To be sure. But that is not what I asked.”

“You talk in riddles. What is it you want? Speak plainly or leave me be,” she spat.

“Oh, I think you know. You and I are not so dissimilar after all. I know what you are doing, lovely woman.”

“And what is it you think I am doing?”

“Hiding.” The blond assassin’s voice was smug. “The question is, are you hiding your secrets from others? Or hiding your feelings from yourself?” Without waiting for a response, he turned and climbed the ladder to the main floor, leaving the aggravated witch alone in the dark.

________________________________________

_ Wednesday, 27 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

The night sky mourned the imminent demise of summer with a cold, penetrating drizzle. Rain splashed the outside of Morrigan’s small tent, while the eerie green glow of witchlight splashed the inside. It was bright enough to read by, though she kept it dim to avoid disturbing her slumbering companion. She glanced over her shoulder at the warm, muscled body against her back. She had considered sending him out after they finished coupling, but he had looked as if he needed the rest.

The witch scowled. Her concern was purely for the sake of efficiency, no matter what that ridiculous elf insinuated. Exhausted companions traveled more slowly, which benefited no one. Yes, having him curled around her was ... pleasant ... with his strong arm draped over her waist, and his breath upon her neck. And with the damp chill in the air, it was convenient, as well; the man was a furnace.

But that was all.

_‘Insufferable elf.’_ She wrenched her wayward thoughts back to the tome before her.

Years ago, one of the Chantry’s jackboots came within a hair’s breadth of catching her mother unawares. Flemeth had escaped, but the templar purloined her spellbook, and the theft never ceased to rankle. Before Aedan had stormed the pathetic mage prison at Kinloch, Morrigan had asked him to keep an eye out for the grimoire ... though with no great expectation of success. Thus she was pleasantly surprised when he returned and produced a leather-bound book adorned with the symbol of a leafless tree.

She had been studying it every chance she got.

Flemeth was old and powerful, and possibly not even human. The complexity of her grimoire reflected that, and wading through the dense handwriting packed with complex theory and archaic or foreign words was arduous. Thus far, when Morrigan succeeded in unraveling a given section, she had exulted in the fierce joy of accomplishment.

Not this time.

“No. It cannot be,” she breathed, frantically checking and re-checking her translations and coming up with the same appalling conclusion.

She had forgotten Rob was there until he stirred, whether alerted by her words or the hammering of her heart, she knew not. His hand splayed over her midriff, in a gesture no doubt meant to be soothing. “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No, I am not ‘okay!’” she snapped. “I knew she was cold, but ... but this! I cannot ...” She was so numb with shock, she allowed Rob to turn her onto her back and gather her close. Surprisingly, he did not pry; he simply held her and waited for her to speak.

“I have been studying my mother’s grimoire. The passage I just finished explains, in great detail, the means by which she has survived for centuries.” A space behind her eyes throbbed, echoed back unpleasantly by a lump in her chest. “Flemeth has raised many daughters over her long lifetime. There are stories of these many ‘Witches of the Wilds’ throughout legend. Yet I have never seen a one, and always wondered why not. And now I know. They are all _Flemeth.”_

Rob’s brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”

Morrigan heard her voice respond, bizarrely calm. “When her body becomes old and wizened, she raises a daughter. And when the time is right, she takes her daughter’s body for her own. I am to be her next host.”

The warrior’s jaw dropped in horror. “She’s planning to ... to destroy you somehow and take over your body? Your own _mother_??”

“So it would seem,” she replied hollowly.

The strength of his anger surprised her out of her numbness. “That’s bullshit! She had you, and kept you all by yourself out in the woods for your entire life ... for _that_?!” His arms tightened. “ _No._ No way. _Fuck that shit._ ” His blue eyes blazed with determination as he reached up to cup her cheek. “I’m not gonna let that cold bitch get her claws in you. None of us will. We’ll stop her, whatever it takes.”

She was too shaken to dwell upon his unexpected concern. “There is only one possible response to this. Flemeth needs to die. I will not sit about like an empty sack waiting to be filled.” Her throat constricted, dueling emotions vying to overwhelm her.

He nodded, accepting. “Then we’ll kill her.” After a pause, he added. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how you must feel. That’s the total opposite of what a mother is supposed to be, treating you like a ... a retirement plan instead of a daughter, and it’s just—you deserve better, Morrigan. I’m so sorry you went through that. You should’ve grown up being loved. I hope you know that. You deserve to be loved.”

His strange sympathy for her feelings was her undoing. She curled into his chest, shaking, and for the first time in her life, someone held Morrigan while she cried.

________________________________________

_ Saturday, 30 Solace, 9:30 Dragon _

“I still fail to see the point of this endeavor,” she grumbled, as they picked their way through yet another low-ceilinged tunnel strewn with cobwebs.

“Yes, I know,” Aedan replied, an edge in his tone. “You’ve said. Repeatedly. All morning. And I told you, we don’t know what will happen with this war.” His eyes flicked to Raven, but he shook his head and continued. “Soldier’s Peak is a Warden stronghold. If we reclaim it, we’ll have a better rallying point than ‘near Denerim, third farm on the right.’”

His glance suggested the irritating scholar must have figured in to this decision somehow. She might have known. The woman strolled blithely along on Alistair’s arm, as if tons of rock did not hang precariously over their heads, and it only increased her annoyance. “Yes, _whatever_ was I thinking? ‘Tis only the middle of a Blight; it makes _perfect_ sense for the only Wardens in Ferelden to risk falling to their deaths in dilapidated mining tunnels at the behest of a whining merchant.”

“Hmm, you make a good point,” Alistair piped up, sharing a look with Raven. “We’re far too valuable to put in danger; you should probably go first.”

She was spared further discourse with the fool when they turned a corner and saw a hint of light. Levi Dryden, the merchant who had begged their aid to restore his noble family’s honor, raced ahead, laughing with excitement. “You see, Warden? I told ya the maps would get us through, and here we are.”

“Soldier’s Peak. Looks like it’s seen better days. Better centuries, more like.” For a wonder, Alistair was not wrong. The old Warden fortress was impressive in size but not much else, given its abandonment and disuse after the Grey Wardens were expelled from Ferelden in the Storm Age over two hundred years before.

Still, she owed him for his previous slight. “Yes, once the Wardens flourished, their ranks full, their caliber certain. Now they even accept people like you, Alistair.” His pouting exclamation amused her, and helped her shake off the discomfort of traveling so far beneath the earth.

Once their eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun, Dryden’s cousins set about rebuilding the bridge across the chasm under which they had just travelled. “Never felt we had the right to do it before,” Levi explained, “what with it being Warden property and all ... not to mention the rumors of it being haunted. But now you’re here, we’ll get the road fixed up right quick!”

So they would not be forced to burrow beneath the ground like rats on the way out, at least. Pleased, she agreed to send a brief but showy burst of fire out over the canyon to alert the workmen’s counterparts toiling away on the other side of the gap. In short order, a pair of arrows trailing rope sailed over, and construction was underway.

But the concerns of hauntings were not so easily remedied. When they reached the courtyard, the whole party was treated to a ghostly vision of an ancient siege.

“What was that?” Levi asked. “I felt a bit woozy there.” With an anxious glance at Aedan, he added, “I’m not mad, am I? You saw it, too?”

Leliana piped up with her usual romanticized drivel. “I’ve heard an Orlesian ballad about something like this. A beauty trapped in a dream. In the song, Bellissa never wakes up.”

“Your pretty friend here is making me nervous, Warden,” Levi said. “How is this even possible? The place must truly be haunted!”

Before Aedan could answer, they heard the telltale sound of bones slotting together as skeletons assembled themselves from the dirt, and a green miasma stirred the corpses of long-dead warriors to rise and fight once more. “Ugh,” Rob snorted. “Zombies again? Can’t we at least get variety?”

“What, it doesn’t put you in the Halloween spirit?” his sister called back, and then they were too busy to chat.

A detached corner of Morrigan’s mind observed the fighting with an odd sense of enjoyment. Even before the foes were fully formed, Wynne’s haste spell dropped over her, sharpening her senses, and Leliana sang the first strains of a melody that roused the party’s battle instincts. Alistair shouted a challenge at the undead, drawing their attention, while Sten waded into a group of skeletons with a bloodcurdling laugh. Zevran danced in and out of the fray, maddening the creatures so they failed to notice he had lined them up for her cold spell; a blow from Rob’s shield shattered them into sparkling shards. The skeletal archers atop the keep’s stairs never had the chance to use their bows; Raven incapacitated them as they formed, and Aedan appeared seemingly out of thin air to finish them off. Even the mangy dog contributed, intercepting a corpse that menaced the old mage, bearing it to the ground, and snapping its neck in one fluid motion. Whatever their differences, in battle they merged into a singular mechanism of savage grace.

They made impressively short work of the undead, while the merchant huddled against the outer wall, eyes wide. She laughed when the last enemy fell, exchanging grins of triumph with her comrades. The strange sense of ... belonging ... was as exhilarating as it was unsettling. But they had work to do, and she was far too busy to focus on such trifles.

After a brief discussion, Aedan opted to divide the group into two parties, to adjust for indoor close-quarters fighting. She was to assault the keep with Aedan, Rob, Zevran, and Hohaku. Alistair would head up the second party in case the workmen required a Warden’s permission to act, with Wynne there to handle any injury to the laborers. Sten’s huge broadsword would be a hazard in small rooms and hallways, and short sight-lines limited the usefulness of the two archers, so they were to stay behind as well, clearing debris once the lower floors were safe.

“If we run into trouble, it’s easy enough to come out for backup,” Aedan noted. “We may as well get started.” Raven motioned him aside for a brief word, and then Aedan’s group entered the keep.

________________________________________

“Well, Master Dryden, say what you wish about your ancestor, but she knew how to give a speech,” Zevran quipped, after the next ghostly vision showed the leader of the Wardens rallying her troops. “Inspiring the will to fight in a company of men trapped on the losing end of a siege is no small feat.”

“So brave, even when starving,” Levi agreed.

They fought through the building room by room, defeating skeletons and demons by the score, and still the merchant claimed to have more questions than answers. His willful blindness was astonishing. He was so certain of the purity of the Grey Wardens, he missed the obvious truth: his great-great-grandmother had used the Wardens as resources in her attempt to become queen, but ultimately failed and died in ignominy. It was laughable, really, how the foolish man insisted there must have been good reasons for her actions because “the Wardens are heroes!”

Morrigan watched Aedan chafe under that characterization, and smirked to herself. If he felt that way already, knowing as little of the Wardens as he did, she could scarcely imagine how he would react to learning more of their secrets when the time was right. As it was, he paled enough at the vision where Sophia Dryden ordered her mages to summon demons. His voice shook when he told the merchant the Wardens commit to doing anything it takes to get the job done.

“I believed my family was better than that,” Levi said.

What interested her far more was the large mirror near the demon summoning circles. Could it truly be an eluvian? If so, and if it still worked, the Wardens clearly hadn’t known what they had—they could have used the ancient elven portal to leave this fortress and slip their enemy’s noose. Her fingers itched to examine it, but promised herself she would return later, alone.

A few steps further and Levi Dryden got to meet his dear ancestor in the flesh, so to speak. Somehow, Morrigan suspected encountering a demon possessing her mottled corpse was not what the man had in mind. Aedan’s mongrel displayed its breeding when it immediately set to growling; the dog was a drooling nuisance, certainly, but a clever one.

The demon claimed it had been trapped inside the Keep since it fell, and tried to bargain with Aedan for its freedom. It would help them repair the Veil, putting an end to the demon infestation—if they would kill an unnamed entity preventing its escape, in the tower above. After a circuitous but brief conversation, Aedan refused and they made short work of the thing.

“How do you know whatever the former Warden Commander wanted us to kill isn’t a worse menace than she was?” Zevran asked.

Aedan shared a look with Rob. “Call it a hunch.” 

The tower, it turned out, held the mage who had first summoned the demons at Sophia Dryden’s behest—and he yet lived. Avernus had extended his lifespan through magical experimentation; though his methods had been gruesome, the man himself was proof of their success. He agreed to help repair the Veil, asking only to be allowed to continue his studies on the special properties of Grey Wardens’ tainted blood. Showing unexpected good sense, Aedan agreed ... though he did insist upon a more ethical approach. The old mage destroyed the demon summoning circles that had destabilized the Veil, and the nattering merchant decided since he had found no way to restore his family name, he’d stick to what he was good at. 

By the time they made their way back to the courtyard, night had fallen. The workmen had a temporary rope-and-plank bridge in place, in preparation for a more permanent construction. The others had been busy clearing the debris from the first floor, and she was not displeased to sleep inside out of the cold.

________________________________________

_ Sunday, 1 August, 9:30 Dragon _

All Soul’s Day—the Chantry’s dried-out husk of the old god Dumat’s Feast of Souls—dawned bright and clear. Leliana showed a surprising level of practicality about her religious nonsense. “In Val Royeaux, bonfires are lit all over the city in memory of Andraste’s death. We may not be able to match the pageantry and passion plays of Orlais, but,” she eyed the piles of debris and bones hauled from the fortress, “bonfires? Oh yes, this we can do. And I suppose the fact they are actually remains of the honored dead heightens the symbolism, no?”

“Whatever works,” Raven laughed.

Leliana tilted her head. “I have been meaning to ask you, what was it you said when we were attacked yesterday? Something about ... hollow spirits?”

The dumpy scholar looked perplexed until light finally dawned. “Oh! No, I was teasing Rob about getting into the spirit of Halloween. It’s ... a local tradition related to All Soul’s Day, where we grew up. Children dress up as ghosts, monsters, whatever catches their fancy, and then visit friends and neighbors, who give them candy.”

“Why?” asked Sten.

Zevran raised a brow. “Yes, why? In parts of Antiva, people dress as spirits for midnight processions for the dead, but children do not attend. Or receive sweets.”

“It was probably started to appease the children who whined about missing all the excitement. We never questioned it, to be honest; we were just glad for the excuse to dress up, eat too many sweets, and fall asleep on the floor with sticky hands and faces.”

“I think it sounds charming,” Alistair said, with his usual unthinking acceptance of whatever he was told.

Holiday or no, they made great progress in clearing out the fortress, and were all heartened by a discovery around mid-day. A door they’d overlooked led to the sleeping quarters. Since the Wardens died fighting in the courtyard and main areas, no corpses littered the bedchambers. Wildlife and insects had shunned the demons, so the feather beds were yet sound, ready to be stripped, shaken, and turned. Even the furniture was intact beneath the dust.

A bathing chamber at the end of the hall held several large brass tubs, a small well to draw water from, and a fireplace to heat it (for those unfortunates who lacked the magic to do it themselves). “Oh, baths!” old Wynne clapped her wrinkled hands. “I know it’s only been a week since Denerim, but still!”

As they worked out a bathing rotation, Alistair and the scholar were conspicuously absent. She glanced into the hallway in time to see them disappear into one of the senior Warden bedchambers. _‘Hm, the fool shows more boldness than I expected,’_ she thought. _‘For the woman’s sake, I hope his performance aligns more with his battle prowess than his mental acuity.’_

It brought her mind back to a miserable farmhold near South Reach. She had taken a brisk flight in bird form to escape the dusty barn’s heat and stench. On her return, she spotted Alistair and Raven in the throes of an argument, so she had settled into a nearby tree to observe. They spoke of some Chantry thug at Kinloch...

And then it got interesting.

The scholar told Alistair he should not fear for his friend because of _fated events in the man’s future_. Morrigan flew off when the pair reverted to their usual inane sentiment, but careful observation confirmed her conclusion.

Raven was some sort of seer.

Odd comments and sidelong glances proved Aedan, Alistair, and Rob were aware, but she was uncertain of the others. The true question was how _much_ the inconvenient woman knew, and whether it would impede Morrigan’s plans. She would only have one chance to achieve her aim, and any unexpected obstacles would be unacceptable.

“Hey, hello, anybody in there?” Rob waved his hand before her face, drawing her from her reverie. His smile was open and cheerful, and it was unsettling how easily her lips curved up in return.

Perhaps he would confide in her if she asked the right questions? She gambled, and made a guess. “It is fortunate your sister counseled Aedan to kill the Warden Commander. I doubt we would find this place so hospitable if the demon had gone free.”

Rob gave a guilty start. He strove to control his expression, mumbling a noncommittal response and changing the subject, but it was too late. She knew.

He did not trust her. If it became necessary to be rid of Raven’s inconvenient knowledge, her brother would die defending her.

The thought disturbed her far more than it should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY! I feel a greater kinship with Alistair than ever before, because Morrigan has been the bane of my existence, lol. Turns out it can be rather difficult to write from the point of view of a character who never reveals all she knows at any point in the entire series. :P But with sufficient snippy snark, I hope I've managed to capture the overall vibe of everyone's favorite sneaky witch thief.
> 
> The _next_ chapter, though...that one's going to be _fun_.  >:D


	22. Those Who Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair and Raven lock the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is the first time I really get serious about that E rating, FYI. If you'd prefer to read a version with the explicit section removed, you can find it [here](http://anjelica-grey.com/2018/11/07/to-dream-of-dragons-ch22/).

_ Sunday, 1 August, 9:30 Dragon _

Raven stifled a giggle as Alistair pulled her by the hand into the bedroom of some long-ago Warden of Soldier’s Peak. She shoved the heavy door closed behind her, grateful no telltale squeak gave them away, and turned to grin at her partner-in-crime—well, perhaps not crime, but definitely in shirking cleaning duties. But he caught her by surprise, taking her face between his hands and leaning down for a kiss that pressed her against the wall. Her muscles loosened and stretched as she melted into his embrace, and when he released her, it took a moment for the world to come back into focus.

When it did, she found Alistair looking at her with nervous concern. “I’m sorry; that ... that wasn’t too much, was it? I’ve wanted to do that all morning, and then we were alone and you smiled and I got carried away ...” He trailed off when she reached up to lay a gentle finger upon his lips. No matter how many times they’d kissed or embraced in the last month, he always worried he’d be too forward, do something she didn’t like, or worse yet, cause her pain. She tried not to tease him about it (much) or get impatient with him; heaven knew she needed more than her share of reassurance and he was always quick to provide it.

“Shh. It’s fine. More than fine, if my reaction didn’t prove it. In fact,” she raised a brow, “I think I liked it so much, I need a second helping.” He chuckled as she drew him down for another kiss.

They parted at last, and, with uncharacteristic seriousness, he walked over to a dusty table near one of the room’s long, narrow windows. Though the thick, bubbly glass distorted the landscape outside, it allowed the autumn sun to wrap him in a golden halo, and her heart did a little flip. He brushed the dust off the furniture and gestured for her to sit. After he opened his mouth and closed it again at least three times, she grew uneasy.

“Hey in there,” she said gently, but he jumped as if she’d yelled. She reached across the table and took his larger hand in her small ones, rubbing his sword-callused fingers. “Is something wrong? You seem upset.”

“No! I mean yes. I mean,” he exhaled slowly. “I just need to say something, and I don’t really know how, so ... I’m a little nervous, sure. Not that this is anything bad or frightening, or ... well.”

Raven smiled, ignoring the knot in the pit of her stomach that grew despite his weak assurance. Her mind whirled, forming and rejecting possible scenarios for what might have made him so solemn and uncertain. Could she have said or done something to turn him away? ( _‘Of course you could,’_ said her malicious inner voice. _‘You knew it was only a matter of time.’_ ) Or ... oh no, what if he meant to ask her about fighting the Archdemon, and what would happen after? She didn’t _know_ what Aedan would do, and _probably_ shouldn’t tell him even if she did, and she _definitely_ couldn’t tell him about Morrigan, and—

But he’d started speaking again, oblivious to her inner panic. “Okay, how do I say this? You’d think it would be easier, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head’s about to explode. I—I can’t think straight.”

She laughed despite her fear and Alistair’s intense gaze. “So you’re saying I give you a headache? I’m sure my brother would sympathize.” Something about his words tickled the outer edges of her memory, but flitted away before she could catch it.

“I don’t mean it like _that_ ,” he protested, his eyebrows drawn together in a brief mock scowl. He took a deep breath, and met her eyes. “All right, let me start over. Here’s the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can’t imagine being without you. Not ever. I don’t know how to say this another way. I want to spend the night with you.”

The air rushed out of the room, leaving her staring dumbly with her mouth a soundless O and her pulse pounding in her ears. Her thoughts splintered and flew off in a dozen directions, the most popular being _‘Did he say what I think he said?’_ and _‘I can’t believe this is happening,’_ with a quiet _‘Oh, game dialogue—that’s why the start of this conversation seemed familiar,’_ somewhere in the back.

It gradually registered that he was staring at her, in danger of interpreting her stunned silence as rejection. She swallowed hard and tried to collect herself. “You ... you do? You mean ...”

“Yes!” He blushed at his own vehemence. “Not that I want to seem ... over-eager. Maybe this is too fast, I don’t know, but ... I know what I feel.” He stood up in a rush of nervous energy and paced over to grip the tall bedpost; dust motes rose from the heavy curtains to dance in the sunlight. “I just—I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place ... but when will it _be_ perfect?” Amber eyes swept around the room, taking in the antique finery beneath all the grime. “I never had much to call mine. Between Isolde and the templars’ rules, it was ... easier ... to focus on lessons and jokes, and not let myself wonder what I might have wanted for myself if I’d been given the chance. But—“ He turned to face her again, soul laid bare. “Soldier’s Peak belongs to the Wardens, and we’re the only ones left, so ... this is the closest thing I have to a home of my own. And while I have one, I want to share it with the only other thing I need: you.”

Wordlessly she rose and went to him, eyes welling with emotion, holding him close and pressing her cheek to the thump of his racing heart. He cleared his throat. “Besides, it may be dusty, but it’s bound to be more comfortable than on the ground in some tent, right?” Her soft huff of amusement drew his arms around her.

His cheek pressed against her hair, and she could feel his quiet words rumble through his chest. “I care for you so much. I really don’t want to wait anymore, and ... I want it to be with you.”

Raven pulled away enough to smile up at him. “Yes.”

His eyes opened wide, and he exhaled shakily. “Yes? I mean, yes. Of course. Okay, good. That is ... good. Yes.”

“Alistair?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re babbling.”

A snort of nervous laughter leeched some of the tension from his shoulders. “Well yes, but you weren’t supposed to notice. You were meant to be swooning at my smooth charm.”

She pretended to consider. “I could try, but I feel like if I swooned that easily, it wouldn’t bode well for us sleeping together. I’d faint every thirty seconds, and we’d get nowhere.”

“Good point,” he agreed, and then darted a glance to the dusty bed. “So ... when do you—er, I mean, when should—“ He ran a shaky hand through his hair in frustration. “I mean ... now? Or ...?”

Her heart swelled, and she giggled. “You really are adorable, you know that?”

He blinked. “I ... guess so? I have it on good authority from a beautiful woman, so it would be ungallant of me to disagree. Admittedly I might prefer an adjective like rugged or handsome. Virile, even.”

Still laughing, she pulled him down for another kiss before replying. “Yes, my strong and dashing warrior, all of those. Plus charming, witty, and sweet.”

“Oh look, now you’ve gone and made me blush. See what you’ve done?”

Giddy joy bubbled through her like champagne, and twice as intoxicating. “Hmm, I guess I’ll have to find some way to make it up to you, won’t I?”

His eyes flicked to the bed again, and she smirked. “Relax, Alibear. If we started anything now, we’d be too busy coughing up decades of dust to get far, and then somebody would come barging in at the worst possible moment.” She paused when she caught him looking at her with a dopey grin. “What?”

“You called me Alibear.”

“... oh. Um.” It was her turn to blush. “Sorry?”

“Don’t be. You said it once in your sleep, that night we were alone in the forest. I wondered if you’d ever say it on purpose.”

“You ... don’t mind?”

“I’ve never had a nickname before, unless you count ‘the annoying one’ or ‘hey you.’ I rather like the idea. Though it is perilously close to adorable. Cute, even, Maker forbid.” His laugh belied his criticism.

“In that case, _Alibear_ , how about this: we’re supposed to be here a few days. So, for now, we flip this mattress, and take the bedding down to be washed ... and then we keep working with the others to get this place livable again. Tonight, we just sleep, like that night in the forest. And then tomorrow, when everything is fresh and clean, we can bring something up here for dinner, lock the door, and ... see where things go from there?”

“My dear, your beauty is only matched by your genius,” he teased, but she could tell some of his nerves had subsided.

Of course, that gave them both a full day to anticipate what was to happen next, which was both exciting and agonizing. She had plans to make, though, and a paltry twenty-four hours scarcely seemed sufficient to set things up on her own. There was nothing for it ... she’d have to enlist Leliana’s help.

________________________________________

_ Monday, 2 August, 9:30 Dragon _

The evening sun had just slid behind the mountains when Alistair stepped into their room, his hair still damp from the bath. He paused in mid-motion, golden eyes growing wide, before closing the door after him. “You’ve been busy, I see,” he observed, taking in the flickering candles adorning every horizontal surface, enhancing the soft light of the fireplace.

But his attention quickly returned to her, and she felt her cheeks go pink as his gaze roamed her form. Leliana, as expected, had thrown herself into Raven’s planning with delighted abandon, and had immediately begun scavenging belongings left behind by long-ago residents. “They certainly do not need them any longer; why not make the most of them?” Raven couldn’t think of a good reason to disagree, especially when they’d discovered the wardrobe of a Warden who’d clearly loved fine clothing. As girly as she generally _wasn’t_ , even she had her moments.

The gown she’d fallen in love with was a rich velvet in Warden blue. The bodice was off-the-shoulder with a sweetheart neckline and long shirred sleeves of satiny silver. Her gasp of appreciation had been followed by a sigh. “It’s beautiful, but I’m sure it won’t fit me,” she said. “To be honest, I doubt we’ll find anything that will. This is probably a waste of time.”

“Nonsense,” Leliana replied. “If you were attending a ball in Val Royeaux, certainly we would need to have you fitted. But here you are dressing for one man who knows as much of gowns as he does of Tevinter wines of the Steel Age. All we need is the right corset,” she rummaged around in a drawer before pulling out an undergarment with a bewildering array of hooks and laces, “and we should be able to make it work with a few simple alterations. We’ll get Wynne to help; it couldn’t be simpler. Besides,” she smirked, “the intent is not to wear it very long, yes?”

And thus, she stood in the center of the room feeling like a princess in floor-length velvet, blushing under the admiring gaze of her prince. He neared her as if in a trance, taking one of her hands and lifting it to his lips. “Maker’s breath, but you’re beautiful,” he marveled, and she had to open her eyes wide to prevent them from spilling over with emotion.

She stepped away from him and moved to the door. He tilted his head in question, and she held his gaze with a smile full of promise while she slowly slid the bolt home. He swallowed hard, and her grin widened. “So ... are you hungry?”

Alistair blinked, as if forming words was far too complex a task, and she couldn’t help but giggle. She took his hand and led him to the room’s small table, as he’d done to her the day before ... but this time, the table held dinner for two, and a vase carefully displaying the rose he’d given her. She’d pressed it in a journal once it started to fade, but it was still lovely, and his eyes brightened as he noticed it.

They talked of light subjects through dinner, but as they finished eating, he said, “You do realize the rest of our little party here is going to talk, when we disappear for the whole evening. Maker, Leliana alone will ask nosy questions for a week straight.”

Raven laughed. “Who do you think helped me set this up? The meal was pretty basic with what we had on hand, true ... but my cooking’s worse than yours ... and I’ve had your cooking.”

“Oh, ouch!” He pressed a a palm to his chest and feigned an injured air before laughing. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“Leliana helped me find a dress, put my hair up for me and everything.” She looked away, suddenly shy. “I ... wanted to be pretty, for everything to be perfect for you.”

He slid from his chair to kneel at her feet. Taking her hands in his, he said, “You are always pretty, my dear; that hasn’t changed from the first time I saw you. But tonight,” he paused, reaching up to cup her cheek, “tonight you’re breathtaking.”

She rubbed her face against his hand, twin tears spilling from her eyes, sliding beneath her glasses and down her cheeks. His alarm was immediate. “Did I say the wrong thing again? I’m sorry, I—“

“No,” she smiled. “It was the most beautiful thing you could have said. I’m just ... having one of those moments where it’s hard for me to believe all this is real. That you’re real. I don’t—my life, my ... my relationships, they’ve never been like this. I can’t understand how I could be sitting here with someone like you looking at me like I’m ... something precious.”

“I can’t understand how someone could see you as anything else,” he said, and leaned up to claim her lips in a kiss that made the world slow in its turning, with them at its axis.

Finally, she stood, holding his hands to draw him up with her, and backed slowly toward the bed. He tensed, and she halted with a reassuring smile. “Hey, you know it’s okay if you aren’t ready for this, right? We won’t do anything you don’t want.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just—“ He ran a hand through his hair, swallowing nervously. “I’ve ... I’ve never done this before. You know that. Whenever I think of it, I feel like a bumbling idiot, all hands.”

“Alistair,” she soothed. “Relax. Just being here with you is wonderful. Anything beyond that is a bonus. And if it doesn’t all go how we’d prefer, well, that only gives us more excuse to practice.”

He laughed in spite of his nerves. “When you put it that way...”

“Exactly. No down side,” she grinned. “So, if at any point you decide this isn’t what you want, just say so, and we’ll snuggle up and sleep. But if it is,” she turned, putting the back of her dress in his reach, and looking at him over her bare shoulder. “If it is, I could use a little help getting this dress off.”

In the pause that followed, she was certain he could hear her pulse thundering. Finally, his hands rose to slide up her satin sleeves. She expected him to move toward the laces of her gown, but instead his lips met the join of her neck and shoulder, and she shuddered so hard her knees might have buckled if he wasn’t steadying her. He gave a low, pleased chuckle at her predictable reaction.

“That, sir, is not where the laces of my dress are located,” she scolded, with no conviction whatsoever.

“But it’s such a lovely spot,” he protested. “It makes you do this.” And he nibbled again, making her grab the bedpost for support.

“True, but just imagine all the spots you don’t know about yet,” she pointed out, trying to slow her runaway pulse. “If you don’t get this dress off me, you’ll never find them.”

She planned to stay in control, to make sure everything was good for him, but when his voice dropped raspy and deep, and he replied, “As my lady wishes,” she knew she was in trouble.

________________________________________

Due to Leliana’s expert assistance, Raven’s dress had been secured with a minimum of fastenings, and for what seemed like the millionth time that evening, she mentally blessed the bard. Alistair pulled the neat bow, and the gown was ready to slip from her shoulders. Holding the bodice against her chest, she turned to face him and, with a deep breath, she let the fabric slide to the floor.

It took her a moment to gather her nerves enough to look up and meet his eyes, but when she managed it, his stunned expression reassured her. The corset went from below her bust to the top of her hips, and it was black like her own simple bra and underthings she’d worn along with it. Against the delicate porcelain of her skin, the effect was striking, and it seemed Alistair thought so too. 

“All good so far?” she asked.

After a false start and a pause to clear his throat, he managed a yes. She nudged him into sitting on the edge of the bed, and stepped into the space between his knees. “Hi there,” she grinned.

“Hello,” he said, with the hint of a laugh. “Fancy meeting you here. Lovely evening, isn’t it?”

She leaned in until her lips were near his ear. “It’s about to be.”

He shuddered when she followed up by tracing his ear with her tongue, but his hands remained on the edge of the bed. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she rubbed her cheek against his, smiling against his neck. “You can touch me,” she encouraged gently. “It’s all right, really. If you do anything I don’t like—which is unlikely—I promise I’ll let you know.”

Hesitantly, his palms slid up the sides of the corset. “Does this contraption hurt you?” he asked, stalling.

“Not really. If I had to wear it very long, it would get uncomfortable, but for a few hours it’s not bad.”

“Oh. Good. That’s ... good.”

She leaned back far enough to catch his eye. “Alistair.”

“Hmm?”

“You don’t actually care about the finer points of ladies’ foundation garments.”

“You don’t know that! I am an unusual man with widely varied interests, always keen to expand my knowledge. I could be enthralled!”

“Sure, okay. _Are_ you actually interested in corsets?”

“... No.”

Raven laughed, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m serious, if you don’t want to do this—“

“That’s not it!” he growled in frustration. “I just ... I want to do it _right_ , and ... and I’m a breath away from falling on you like some wild beast and ruining everything and it’ll be terrible and you’ll hate me forever and I won’t get to kiss you anymore and I—I’m rambling again, aren’t I?.”

“Hey.” She tilted his chin up, forcing him to meet her gaze. “First, there is nothing you could do to make me hate you forever. As long as you don’t bite any pieces off, or try to shove your bits in my eye, all we’ll have is a funny story and a good reason to try again, I promise. Okay?” He laughed and nodded. “And as for feeling frantic ... I may have a solution for that.”

“You do?” His plaintive tone was adorable, and she was struck yet again by how strange and sweet it was to be with someone so determined to please her.

“First tell me this,” she said, doing her best to sound calm and matter-of-fact. “Did the Chantry allow you to touch yourself, or was that against the rules? And how much have you ever had the chance to learn of ... what people do when they’re intimate?” She was proud of how composed she sounded; usually, she could manage to be bold when _having_ sex, but became a blushy mess if she had to _talk_ about it

Alistair looked away, embarrassed. “I ... not much, really. I mean, I spent most of my time tending animals, so I have a basic idea of ... of what goes where, so to speak. But everyone in Redcliffe was careful talking around me for fear I would tattle to Isolde the Conveniently Pious. The Chantry didn’t say anything beyond ‘Don’t.’ And I barely had the chance to get to know any of the Wardens before—well.” He shrugged. “As for, uh ... touching myself,” he snorted, “the Chantry frowned on that too, but I was always of the mind that what Andraste didn’t know didn’t hurt me.”

She chuckled. “Makes sense. Okay, you trust me, right?” At his immediate affirmative, she smiled. “Then let me take care of you first. We have plenty of time, and I’m not going anywhere.” Judging by his confused nod, he didn’t follow her meaning (which surprised her not at all), but he was willing to let her take the lead. “For now, just sit here and relax. If you want to touch me at any point, you can.”

He tilted his head. “What are you going to do?”

“Something like what you’ve done to yourself, but I’m going to use my mouth.”

He went scarlet from ears to navel. “Your ... your mouth? You’d want to ... to, uh, put—“

“Oh, I definitely want to,” she said, her eyes leaving no room for doubt.

He took her at her word, though his expression still registered his surprise, but he thought of another concern. “What about you? It shouldn’t just be me ... um, enjoying myself ...”

“I’ll enjoy your reaction, believe me,” Raven grinned, pulling off her glasses and laying them on the bedside table. “But I understand what you mean, and you don’t need to worry about that right now. Like I said, we have time; we’ll get there. Okay?”

Hesitantly, he nodded, but stopped her when she made as if to move, cupping her face in his hands. “I’ve had little chance to see you without your spectacles,” he noted. “You are lovely either way, but seeing you in this light reminds me how beautiful your eyes are. Have I ever told you that? I’ve thought it a hundred times ... looking into your eyes is like lying in the grass on a summer day and daydreaming pictures into the clouds.”

Pink bloomed in her cheeks, and she turned to press a kiss in his palm. “Such a sweet talker. How is it that you always find such perfect things to say?”

“I usually do just the opposite, so if I’ve improved, it must be your good influence.”

“Maybe,” she grinned. “But at this moment, I’m much more interested in being a bad influence.” Her lips roamed his face, trailing up to his ears, then down his neck along the collar of his shirt. Sliding her hands to his waist, she tugged at the bottom of the obstructive garment. “Let’s get this off, hmm?” she asked, and he lifted his arms to assist.

It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless, but it was the first time she wasn’t trying to hide her fascination from nosy companions, so she let herself stare. With the fuzzy halo of flickering light around everything she saw without her glasses, her pale hand looked nearly translucent against the golden skin of his muscled torso. She got lost in trailing her fingers over his body, until he moved and brought her back into the moment. She glanced up at him, flustered, and he chuckled at her expression. “Is it my turn to ask if you’re okay?”

“Hey, don’t blame me,” she protested. “Have you _seen_ you? It’s hardly my fault if I get distracted.” A smug grin curved his lips, easing some of his tension.

She brought it right back by lowering her face to rub against his chest, her breath ghosting over his skin before she added teasing kisses with a hint of teeth. When she sucked his nipple into her mouth, he gasped, and his eyes widened as she followed a line of burnished copper hair that beckoned her trailing tongue inexorably downward. Finally, she knelt at his feet, and when she rubbed her cheek against his confined erection, he was not the only one to moan.

“You’re still wearing too much clothing.” They both held their breath as she untied the laces of his breeches, and he lifted up enough for her to pull them off. His hands went to the waist of his smalls as if to remove them, but he hesitated, uncertain.

She could work with that.

Bending her head, she edged his knees further apart, and dropped a kiss on his inner thigh, slowly working higher. This time, when she reached straining cloth, she laid her mouth over the covered tip and forced a warm exhale through the fabric. His answering moan made her eager for more, so she took him in as fully as his smalls would allow and sucked, sliding a hand up his leg to scrape fingernails lightly down the rest of his shaft.

A few moments of that teasing attention was enough to have him pulling his smalls off, leaving him bare at last. Her hungry gaze trailed back upward, finding a curious sort of anxious pride on his face. He’d shared barracks and bathing rooms with other men; he plainly had no cause for concern about his body. And yet, despite that and all her reassurances, it seemed he hadn’t lost his fear of failing her.

Good thing she knew how to help him relax.

His amber eyes were dark with heat when she locked her gaze with his, before leaning closer to blow a stream of cool air across his heated skin. His cock twitched from the attention, and she tossed him a wicked grin before reaching out to encircle him with her tongue.

“Maker,” he swore, sending a shiver rolling down her spine to twist her hips. Imagining the sounds he might soon make brought a moan of anticipation to her lips; it seemed only fair to lay her lips upon him and let the purr of her voice vibrate into his sensitive flesh. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe, a problem she made far worse when, looking up at him through her lashes, she slowly slid him into her mouth.

Taste was a vanishingly minor part of pleasuring a man this way, she’d always felt. Skin mostly tasted like skin, and any other taste varied widely depending on the individual. As much as she loved performing the act, the flavor of male climax was hardly akin to some exotic dessert. No, beyond the sheer power of being able to reduce a lover into a helpless pool of desire, the real pleasure was in texture and sound. And there, Alistair was intoxicating.

Her small hand barely encircled him, and it was like holding a beach-smoothed stone swathed in a thick layer of warm silk. She never tired of the contrast of soft over hard, and her eyes fluttered closed as she tightened her lips to slide his skin away from the candy-smooth tip, baring it for her questing tongue on a hunt for telltale drops of arousal.

And as for the sound—well. Her Warden was rarely silent on any occasion, and this was no exception. He hissed softly every time she slid him deeper into her mouth. Each slow upstroke where she fought the force of her own suction dragged a ragged moan from his throat. Her hand around his shaft matched the pace of her head prompting fervent words of affection and praise, but they devolved into a string of desperate cries to the Maker when she added a tiny right-left twist to the simple up-and-down movement.

By the time his whimpers grew frantic, she was damp with her own need, and her hips writhed in the same rhythm as her strokes. Flattening her tongue, she took him as deep as she could, and when he hit the back of her throat, he could hold off no longer. “Raven, I—I’m going to—“ he gasped, trying to warn her with a hand on her shoulder, but she was well-aware and had no intention of being dislodged. Finally, he tensed and shuddered, and she pulled his orgasm from him with the rhythmic pressure of her mouth.

And there, she was pleasantly surprised. Though the thick, throat-coating texture hadn’t changed, he was entirely lacking the bitter, acidic flavor she’d learned to expect. It made sense; diets here lacked the processing and chemicals of her world, and included far more fresh foods by necessity. So there was a hidden bonus to losing her ability to microwave dinner, after all.

The thought came and went in an instant, so as she rested on her heels, wiped her chin, and laid her head on his thigh, he was just catching his breath. He sat up from where he’d fallen back on his elbows, and the firelight flickered on the sheen of sweat gilding his skin. She allowed herself a self-satisfied grin when he looked down at her with astonishment and said, “That was— _Maker_ , you are _amazing_.”

“I do my best,” she quipped. “What can I say?”

“You can say you’ll get up here and let me kiss you,” he answered, and she was happy to comply. After demonstrating he _was_ much more comfortable touching her now, and was _not_ put off by his own taste in her mouth, he spun her around, trapping her between his knees. “It’s high time I stop being the only naked one ... assuming I can figure out how to get these wretched things off you.”

She giggled at his frustration as he plucked at her laces. To keep her insecurities from flaring up, she focused on removing the pins from her intricate braids. He had just finished unfastening the corset when her long, dark tresses tumbled down over his hands. Pulling her close, he buried his face in the tumult of mahogany curls. “Your hair always smells so pretty,” he said. “Is that a stupid thing to say? It reminds me of, I don’t know, flowers after a storm.”

She turned with a smile. “It’s not stupid; it’s poetic, to be honest, and I kind of love it.” She kissed him lightly, wiggling to let the corset slide to the floor and kicking it out of the way. Backing away until their faces barely touched, she searched his amber gaze before reaching back to unhook her bra and toss it aside, pulling him close so she could finally feel his skin against hers.

The breath hitched in her throat as his hands rose to caress her back, but then they slid to her hips and he was edging her out to arm’s length. “Let me look at you,” he murmured, and though she couldn’t deny him, she bit her lip and looked away, holding her arms tight to her sides and her fingers knotted fretfully over her middle. But she could still see him from the corner of her eye, and her nerves faded at his rapt expression. His callused fingers gently turned her face toward him, and the wonder in his gaze was balm to her heart. “You are so very lovely, my dear.”

Her shy smile prompted him to lean in for a kiss, and his body was a furnace against her skin. She shivered. “Cold?” he asked, and she nodded; that hadn’t been why she’d shuddered against him, but it was true nevertheless. “Well, we simply cannot have that,” he said, before standing to pull back the covers. His tone should have given him away, but she still squeaked in surprise when he scooped her up with a smirk.

“You crazy man,” she laughed, breathless, curling closer and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I read once that Avvar tribesmen get their women by kidnapping them. All planned ahead with permission, it seems, but they sneak in and carry their chosen bride off in the dead of night. I could never decide if it sounded barbaric or terribly romantic.”

“Probably a little of both, but at the moment I can certainly see the appeal.”

His gleeful grin made her chuckle again. “Exactly what _I_ was thinking! In that case,” he affected a rough growl, “I have you now, wench; you’re mine, and I shall steal you away, muahaha!”

“Oh, dear me, whatever shall I do? I am but a helpless damsel being carted off by a big, muscular, incredibly sexy man; alas and woe is me!” She was laughing so hard by that point she could barely get the words out.

“There is nothing you _can_ do; you are powerless to resist my charms!” he proclaimed, “and now I will carry you off to my bed to have my wicked way with you!” With that, he tossed her into the center of the thick featherbed and pounced on her, tickling her as he covered her face and neck with loud smacking kisses.

When they stopped to catch their breath, she was certain the broad smile he wore was a match for her own. “You are a goofball; do you know that?” she said, kissing his nose.

“Lies and slander. I am a very serious Grey Warden warrior, madam; any claims to the contrary will be severely punished with more tickling.”

“No, no more tickling! I stand corrected! Or more accurately, I sprawl corrected.”

“And a lovely sprawl it is,” he smiled, eyes growing soft as he looked down at her. He stroked the contour of her cheek with one gentle finger, but she gasped when he followed the curve of her neck, tracing her collarbone, and finally coming to rest in the valley between her breasts. When she inhaled, his gaze focused on the movement. Looking up at her, he swallowed hard and asked, “May I ...?”

“Yes, of course. _Please_ ,” she replied. Carefully, as if he feared she might break, his hand rose to cup her breast, and they both forgot to breathe.

“Your skin is like—I ... I don’t _know_ what it’s like, to be honest, but I’ve never felt anything so soft before. Like catching a piece of cloud and finding out it’s warm and alive. That probably doesn’t even make sense. I don’t know why I’m talking.”

“I love the things you say ... but if you’re concerned, you _could_ find something else to do with your mouth,” she said, pulling him down for a slow, languorous kiss. And then he reminded her what a quick study he was by imitating the way she’d kissed a path down his chest. When his tongue circled her nipple, she arched against his mouth with a moan; heat shot straight to her core and rekindled her need.

Alistair responded like he’d been given a new toy, delightedly setting out to discover all the ways he could make her react to his touch. She taught him with her sounds of pleasure—and one small “ouch” when his nibbling got a little too hard for comfort—and sooner than she would’ve imagined, she was tossing her head and whimpering, having forgotten his inexperience.

She needed more.

Taking one of his hands, she guided it down her body, and when his fingers met damp fabric, she sucked in a sharp breath. Past the point of shyness, she wiggled out of her last remaining piece of clothing and tossed it aside. He looked up at her, then down to the apex of her thighs, and back up again, as if asking for permission to go out and play. She chuckled breathily. “By all means, take a closer look.” 

Eagerly, he slid down until his head was level with her hip. After a time that felt far too long and was probably only a moment, her desire overrode her patience. He started when she raised her leg over him and settled it along his back. “You don’t have to do anything specific,” she clarified. “I just know you haven’t had a chance to, um, take in that particular scenery before, you’ll have a better view if you’re front and center, so ... yeah. That.” She meant to make a joke, but his breath tickled her wet skin and she forgot.

“Right,” he agreed, in a tone that implied he had no idea what she’d said because he was focused on something far more interesting. Gingerly, he brushed one finger over her heated flesh, and Raven’s hips rose and writhed, craving more of his touch. “You smell amazing,” he breathed, enthralled. “I didn’t know it would be so ... so pink, and slick. And hot. Is ... is it always like that, or ...?”

“No. Well, the color, maybe, but the rest is all because of you. Because of what you do to me.”

“Mmm,” he purred, his finger playing over her folds, and she reached down to spread herself wider for him. When he brushed against that most sensitive of spots at the top of her sex, she bucked against his hand. Naturally, he did it again to watch the result, and her hips would no longer be still, writhing at his touch.

“Alistair,” she called, to recapture his attention. “I don’t want to interrupt you, but—ohhh,” she moaned, when he slid his questing finger inside her. “But, um,” she struggled to hold on to her train of thought as he discovered how wet he’d made her, “if you’re feeling ready, I would really like to have something more than your fingers in me. Immediately, if possible.”

“That—“ He cleared his throat, trying to unstick his words. “That sounds fantastic.”

“Oh, thank god,” she gasped, pulling him up beside her and nudging him onto his back. “There are lots of ways we could do this, but I thought it might be easier to start with a position where you can relax and let me lead, if that works for you. It’s also one of my favorites, so that’s a plus.”

“So you’re going to have your way with me, instead of the other way around, hmm?” he chuckled, but it cut off in a gasp when she wrapped a hand around him and claimed his lips in a searing kiss.

Sliding a knee over his body, she straddled him on all fours, savoring the feel of her nipples against the sprinkling of golden hair on his chest, and his cock nudging against the place she ached for it to be. Tilting her hips for better access, she grasped him again, making them both moan by rubbing the head along her desire-slicked opening, using him to tease herself into an even greater need.

And finally, finally, she lowered herself onto him, feeling him enter her inch by glorious inch.

“Holy fucking Maker,” her ex-Chantry boy swore, his hands rising to clutch at her hips. “That is—Raven, love, you feel fucking incredible.”

Sitting up and rocking to settle him fully inside her, she found the presence of mind to throw him a grin filled with sass. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

And then she started to move.

At first, she forced herself to keep things slow, twisting her hips in languid circles as if dancing to music only she could hear, her head falling back in pleasure. But when she thought to glance down at him, the raw need on his face stole her focus. Her strokes grew deeper and wilder as he learned to follow the urgings of his body to rise up and match her.

She’d closed her eyes again without thinking, so she was taken utterly by surprise when his thumb slid between their bodies, circling the tiny button of heat that sent a disproportionate flood of sensation through her body. Frantic, she whimpered, reaching blindly for his other hand to drag it to one pleading breast, and the play of his callused fingers over her nipple was the last touch she needed. A roaring rush of pleasure curled her spine, wrenching a ragged cry from her throat and sculpting her form into a trembling statue of climax.

When, panting dizzily, she finally met Alistair’s gaze, he was open-mouthed in awe. “Was that ... your version, of ...” he trailed off awkwardly, lacking the terminology for what he wanted to ask, but she understood.

“Yes,” she answered, a lazy smile finding her lips as she gave him the words. “That was me having an orgasm, because you and your clever thumb made me come for you.” Leaning forward, she licked a kiss from his mouth, wrapped in a fog of bliss.

“I felt it,” he marveled against her skin. “A sort of ... of squeezing, I guess? I still can feel it, a little.” His hands swept up her back, and with all her nerve endings alive, that was enough to send a twitching aftershock through her. He gulped. “I definitely felt that.” She gave him a passion-drunk grin. “So, since you ... you uh, came, are you ... done, now?’

She giggled into the hollow of his shoulder at his carefully masked disappointment. “No. That’s one perk of being female. It may take me longer to get to the party, but I don’t have to go home so soon.” A slight twist of her hips underlined her point while dragging a purring moan from her throat. “In fact, for me personally, once I’ve had one orgasm, it’s a lot easier to have another.” She sucked his lip into her mouth, nipping lightly. “Want me to show you?”

His hands slid down to grip her backside, and that was the only answer she needed. Rubbing against every bit of his skin she could reach, she told him to scratch his fingernails down her back, and her swift intake of breath led him to repeat it. Finally, she turned heated eyes to him, fierce with lust. He gave her a lopsided smile. “With that expression, I can’t tell if you mean to make love to me or have me for dinner.”

With a wicked smirk, she said, “Dessert.”

She knew it wouldn’t take much more for either of them, so this time she leaned forward onto her elbows and pulled him nearly all the way out before snapping her hips back down to hilt him inside her. He groaned, but when her eyelids fluttered shut again, he stopped her. “Look at me,” he pleaded. “I want to see you.”

Swallowing hard with a nod, she locked her gaze to his as her short, sharp strokes grew faster and more punishingly desperate. She heard moaning but could not tell where hers ended and his began, and felt as if his burning amber gaze could see clear to the bottom of her soul. Breathing got more difficult to remember with each meeting of their hips. As he filled her, and as she rode him, he ran his fingers down her spine one last time. Fighting to force her eyes open, she watched him as she climaxed, and he followed a moment after.

________________________________________

“You know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should’ve been struck by lightning by now,” Alistair joked later, as she climbed back into bed after putting out the candles.

“Hmm, I think not. Smiting someone so—what was the adjective you wanted? Virile?—would be a terrible waste of godly resources.” She winked teasingly. “Especially after such a lovely performance.”

“Meaning what? It was so great the Maker Himself decided to spare me the usual punishment?” he laughed. “Strange the Chantry sisters never mentioned that loophole.” She giggled and kissed him again.

When they parted, he took a deep breath, choosing his words. “So ... what now? Where do we go from here?”

Her smile froze, worrying yet again about what choices Aedan Cousland would make in the future, and what it would mean for the two of them. “I don’t know,” she said honestly, burying her face against his chest. “But wherever it is, we’re going there together.”

“I can handle that,” he replied, cuddling her close. “Oh, by the way ... have I told you that I love you? Because I do, you know. I love the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh at my horrid jokes. I love that you’re fierce and fearless and yet compassionate and caring to everyone we meet. I love how brilliant you are, how your mind is always working on a solution to the next problem. I love that you’ve taken a situation that would make most people crazy, and found your place in it. I love the way your kisses make me forget what I’m doing, and I love that thing you did with your tongue a little while ago.” He waggled his eyebrows, making her giggle, before pulling his arms tighter around her. “I just love _you_.”

Her heart felt too full for her chest, and she blinked away the happy tears birthed by his words. She lifted her head so he could see the joy in her eyes. “I love you too,” she answered, then grinned. “my Alibear.”

“See?” he teased. “Was that so hard? And to think, _you_ were nervous about this whole thing. _I_ knew it would be fine, of course, but you know me, the—what was it again? Oh right—rugged and virile warrior who brings beautiful women to their knees—“ He interrupted himself with a snort of laughter when he realized what he’d said. “—literally, in some cases! And who—“

Any other claims the virile warrior might have made remained unsaid, when his delicate damsel smacked him with a pillow and forced his surrender with the clever use of giddy kisses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is, at long last, the first night together with our dear Alibear. I hope it was as satisfying for you all to read for me to write. I just--I just love these two dorks. :D


	23. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen arrives only to leave, and Rob finds Orzammar both strange and sadly familiar.

_ Thursday, 12 August, 9:30 Dragon _

Rob had been almost sad to leave Soldier’s Peak. Even Morrigan had relaxed ... though both she and Raven had gone up at different times to talk to that creepy old mage, Avernus. Rob thought of asking why, but had decided he was better off not knowing.

It was still strange, adjusting to his sister’s eclectic foreknowledge.

She’d been stunned when they reached a village busily rebuilding after darkspawn broke a dam and flooded the town. Rae stared at the mayor, a guy named Dedrick, while he apologized for not having lodgings for them. Later, she’d told Rob she’d forgotten about Crestwood since the games wouldn’t show it for years ... but the darkspawn hadn’t caused the destruction; the mayor had done it himself, to kill off Blight-sick refugees. Rob had wanted to go confront Dedrick, but she’d stopped him, saying the man’s time would come.

On the flip side, she’d been utterly unsurprised the next day, when they’d run off some of Loghain’s men attacking a lone soldier. It turned out the guy had not only been at the Battle of Ostagar, but had been a personal guard of the late king. Just before dying of his wounds, he’d given Aedan a key to vital private correspondence the king left behind; Rae just nodded.

But she’d been a bundle of nerves this morning, because their plan for the day was off the grid of her prior knowledge. Aedan had planned a brief stop at Kinloch on their way to Orzammar, to check on the mages’ fighting strength and pass along the method of bespelling messenger birds. So, Rae had set up a meeting with Shanna and Cullen. As they rowed over to one of the smaller islands near the Circle tower, it was hard to say who was more on edge, Rae or Alistair. 

She’d arranged to meet here instead of in the tower, thinking it might be easier for Cullen to see Alistair in an environment he’d never known prior to the demons combing his memories. Cullen had agreed to bring Shanna and Connor, along with a light lunch. Rob had expected a bag with a few squished sandwiches and a seat on a convenient rock—but if one thing could be said of Cullen, it was that when he set out to do a thing, he did it properly.

A large blanket was spread neatly in a warm patch of sun, holding a basket so full of sandwiches, fruit, and pastries it nearly overflowed. Cullen smiled faintly when, after greeting everyone, Alistair immediately poked through the contents. “Grilled cheese!” he exclaimed happily, and Raven laughed, knowing Alistair’s fondness of cheese in any form.

Shanna snorted. “I oughta say so, Ser; ‘e asked for ‘em special, and only told me ten times to make sure they was in there.” Cullen shot the little elf a glare, but she was unrepentant as usual. Raven hid a smile and hugged the girl, who sat beside her on the blanket.

“So, Connor,” Alistair asked, settling down between Rae and the boy, “How have you been settling in?”

The quiet boy jumped at being addressed, his shoulders hunched, eyes only slightly less haunted than when they’d brought him back from Redcliffe. Rob felt for the kid, but he couldn’t quite shake the memory of him standing in the great hall, talking in a voice that wasn’t his own and making Bann Teagan hop around like a moron. _‘Not Connor’s fault his mother’s an idiot,’_ he reminded himself sternly.

“It’s been all right, Ser,” Connor began, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward when Alistair raised an eyebrow in mock reproach. “I mean, Alistair.”

“That’s better,” the Warden said approvingly, ruffling the boy’s hair. “So everyone’s been kind to you?”

“Well ...” His eyes darted to Shanna. “One of the older mages has— _had_ —family in Redcliffe, and ...”

The girl’s eyes took on a fierce gleam, and her hands balled into fists. “Stupid git thought ‘e was gonna ‘ave some words for Connor, but me an’ Petra ‘ad some words for ‘im instead."

“Shanna has been a great friend,” the boy said. “The others ... have mostly left me alone.”

“We’re lucky to have our Shanna, aren’t we?” Raven asked. Connor smiled, Cullen scowled, and Shanna grinned archly, which made everyone else laugh.

“Speakin’ of friends, you really saw Sera in Denerim, Lady Raven?” the girl asked. “She was all right?”

“We really did. Sister Leliana met her first; she caught Sera trying to pick her pocket.”

Shanna’s eyes went round as saucers. “She didn’t!”

Rob grinned. “She did. Hope she gets better at picking targets if she’s gonna keep that up.”

“Always did ‘ave more nerve than sense, that one,” Shanna snorted. “But I’m glad she’s all right. Do ... d’ya think she’ll ever wanna see me again?”

Raven considered her answer for a long moment, and Rob approved; the kid was too bright to accept meaningless platitudes. “I don’t know, Shanna,” she said finally, before her eyes shifted to Cullen. “When people go through something painful or scary, it can be hard for them to remember who their friends are. But I think Sera knows you’re still you, and not what the magic made you. She just needs time.”

Cullen looked away, his expression shuttered, and Alistair winced. _‘Good time for a new topic,’_ Rob thought. “So, Cullen, you’re back to training?”

The templar brightened at the change of subject. “Yes. I finally have leave to spar with the others again.”

“So soon?” Raven fretted and Cullen bristled, but before he could retort, Alistair chimed in.

“Cullen’s tough, Rae; he can handle it. When we were recruits, he broke his arm after a fall from a tree. The next day, the stubborn arse was training one-handed; said it gave him a reason to focus on his shield work.”

“Really?” Rob asked, impressed.

“Yes, the story is true,” Cullen said dryly, “though he failed to mention it was _his_ fall from a tree, _onto me_.”

“Pssh, details,” Alistair said with a grin.

“He’d been tossing his shirt up in the air after practice on a hot day, and it got stuck in a tree, so he climbed up to get it. But then he was so impressed with the view he decided to go higher to take in the scenery.”

“In my defense, it _was_ a lovely view. And I’d have been fine if my foot hadn’t slipped. I was lucky though; a thirty-foot drop and all I got was a few bruises.”

“Good thing you had something to break your fall,” Cullen deadpanned.

“Yes, wasn’t it?” the Warden replied brightly.

Raven was looking back and forth between the two men with a smile. Rob decided the three of them could use some time to talk. “Why don’t I take the kids and the dog for a walk, work up an appetite, and then we can eat that mountain of sandwiches?” Hohaku woofed his agreement.

Cullen opened his mouth as if to object, but glanced at Raven and apparently thought better of it; he nodded at the two children. “Stay where I can see you,” he admonished. Connor shrank into himself, while Shanna simply rolled her eyes, but they nodded.

“As you command, Ser Metalbritches,” the elf tossed over her shoulder as they walked away. Rob tried not to laugh and mostly failed.

“So, how are your lessons going?” Rob asked Shanna when they were out of earshot of the others.

She stuck her tongue out. “Lessons is— _are_ —boring. I’d rather talk about them pretty halla yer friend drew. Do the Dalish really keep ‘em as pets?”

“I’m surprised you even found the Dalish,” Connor said softly, speaking up for the first time of his own volition. “Father says they stay hidden from humans.” A shadow crossed his face at the mention of his father, and Rob took that moment to kneel in the soft sand.

“Hey, your dad really is gonna be okay. My sister is super smart and knows all kinds of stuff, plus she’s got information from this guy named Genetivi, who—“

“Brother Genetivi?” the boy asked, eyes wide. “We have _all_ of his books in the library at home. _He’s_ the one finding a cure for Father?”

“The very same,” Rob said.

Shanna snorted. “I told you that a hundred times; ‘ow come you listen now that ‘e says it?”

Connor searched for a diplomatic response, and Rob helped him off the hook. “Because I’m bigger than you, Shanna-bug. What you gonna do about it, huh?”

Laughing, she launched herself at him, and he hoisted her up on his shoulders. Hohaku stood beside Connor, shoving his nose under the boy’s hand, and for the first time, he saw the happy child Connor Guerrin might have been if life had been kinder.

The boy flung a stick, and the dog happily chased after it. “We had Mabari at home,” he said wistfully.

“I know,” Rob said. “Alistair told us he used to sleep in the kennels and take care of them.”

“He slept ... in the _kennels_?” Connor said, horrified. “But ... but he’s a Grey Warden!”

“But ‘e weren’t one then, yeah? Just a kid like us.”

“Yeah,” Rob hesitated. “I, uh, get the feeling your mom didn’t like him much.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “She likes my Father, Uncle Teagan, and the Chantry, and not much else. When I ... when my magic started, I wasn’t sure she even liked _me_. She acted like I did it on purpose.”

“If it helps, Leliana says your mom’s family has mage blood from way back, so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s hers. But there isn’t fault, really; it’s just a thing you were born with, like having blue eyes or writing left-handed”

“Except writing left-handed doesn’t kill people,” he replied in a weary voice that belied his years. Hohaku nearly toppled Connor in his haste to press his furry head to the boy’s chest in comfort.

“Listen, kiddo” Rob said, putting Shanna down and laying a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Back home, I trained to be a soldier. I learned a lot of things that could hurt people really bad if I wasn’t careful, or if I got mad, or stopped thinking straight. It’s scary sometimes, even for me, and I have a lot more years of practice at dealing with it. Sometimes I think about people we’ve fought, that I’ve hurt, and wonder if I should’ve done anything different. But you know what I figured out? Having the _ability_ to hurt people isn’t what makes you a bad guy. _Choosing_ to hurt innocent people _on purpose_ is. You didn’t do that.”

“I _did_ though, I ... I let the demon trick me, and—“

“And you should never have been in that position,” Rob interrupted. “The Circle’s got issues, but at least they wouldn’t have left you all alone with no one to help you. If your mom hadn’t done what she did, you’d have been here getting trained, and the demon wouldn’t have been able to get you. If anyone is to blame, it’s her, and my sister made sure she knew it.”

“She did?”

Rob snorted. “Oh yeah. Rae rarely loses her temper, but when she does, she lays it all out. By the time she was done, everybody was about ready to blame Isolde for everything up to and including the Blight itself.”

“I don’t hate my mother,” the boy said in weak protest. “She’s still my mother. But she ... she acted like how I looked was more important than what I really was.”

“Shems,” Shanna scoffed, shaking her head.

________________________________________

Alistair, Rae, and Cullen seemed cautiously cordial after they’d spoken, but then the templar casually dropped a bombshell as they finished lunch. “Oh, I should mention ... the Knight-Commander has decided the apprentices will be safer elsewhere, at least until the Blight is over. Within the next week, I will be escorting them to the Circle in Kirkwall.”

“You din’t say we was goin’ away!” Shanna protested. Connor simply looked afraid.

“You’ll be fine,” the templar said dismissively. “Kirkwall’s Circle is one of the largest in Thedas. There will be more children your age.”

“Cullen,” Raven said. “I’ve heard a lot about Kirkwall, so I want to make something clear: I expect you to look after Shanna and Connor just as carefully there as here.”

He frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. Kirkwall has a reputation for order.”

“Kirkwall’s _reputation_ is exactly what I’m afraid of,” Raven glared. “It would be easy for two small children to be lost in the shuffle. I trust you to keep them safe.”

The templar’s jaw clenched. “Am I to nursemaid these creatures the rest of their days, then?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Raven said, voice full of steel.

Shanna, surprisingly, looked wounded. “If you don’t want us _creatures_ around, fine. I don’t need to be chasin’ you around makin’ sure you eat and such anyway.” She rose in a huff, stomping off into a nearby meadow with Connor and Hohaku trailing after. Cullen watched her go with confusion, as if he couldn’t comprehend she might have grown attached to him.

“Probably good for them to leave Ferelden right now anyway,” Alistair said in a conciliatory tone. “We’re doing our best, but...”

“How bad do you think it’ll get?” Cullen asked.

“Bad.”

Raven looked struck by a thought. “That reminds me, Cullen ... before you go, you should write to your family. Smaller villages are being overrun. You said they’re in Honnleath, right? They won’t be safe there.”

Cullen’s brows knit in consternation. “I haven’t written since ... since everything. But I suppose you’re right. I’ll advise them to move elsewhere.”

“South Reach was safe when we came through,” Raven noted, before going off with Alistair to play with the children and the dog. The smile they shared when she took his hand spoke volumes.

“So,” Cullen said after a time. “It seems the two of them have become close.”

“Yeah,” Rob grinned. “It’s good to see them happy, although they’re so cute it’s nauseating.”

“Good, that’s ... good,” the templar said, his eyes unreadable. “He deserves to be happy.”

“ _Everyone_ deserves to be happy. Some people just take longer to figure that out than others.” Cullen looked at him sharply, but Rob didn’t elaborate. _‘Let Goldilocks chew on that one for a bit,’_ he thought.

“So Kirkwall, huh?” He pretended a casual air, wondering what Marian’s new hometown was like.

“Yes, it will be an improvement. The Circle there is properly managed. Knight-Commander Meredith has a reputation for maintaining discipline.”

“Ah, so she’s a hardass,” Rob said.

“I ... what?”

“Commanders are supposed to be strict; it’s a given. So if one gets a _reputation_ for being strict, it means they’re _so_ strict it’s outside the norm. It’s noteworthy.”

“Well I ... I’m sure she has good reasons. Kirkwall is a large Circle and they have a higher than average incidence of blood mages,” Cullen said, nettled.

“Huh. So what you’re saying is, there’s a commander who’s on everybody’s case and ready to punish the slightest flaw ... and in a total coincidence, more mages lose their shit and go all glowy and bad. Interesting.”

“That isn’t—the mages are the problem! The Knight Commander is simply doing her duty!”

“Sure,” Rob said mildly. “Sounds like this Meredith chick is a strong leader, and she cares about her job. But ... some thought Uldred was a strong leader who cared for the mages, and look how that turned out.” Cullen opened his mouth and closed it again, lost in thought until Rob shifted topics. “Anyway, I know the lovebirds have been worried—how are you, really?”

“I’m fine,” he said crisply.

Rob raised an eyebrow. “Right. You know, I had this drill instructor once. Guy had a yell that would carry to next week. One night, I woke up to piss and heard a muffled version of it, so I went to check. Turns out he’d seen some serious shit and got nightmares sometimes. He acted like it was no big deal ... but he thanked me for checking. For listening.” He chuckled. “Course, he also said if I told any of the other guys, I’d be doing push-ups ‘til I was ninety, the cranky bastard.”

Cullen pondered his words for a long moment and relented. “Physically, I’m almost back to normal. And ... and my nightmares have eased now that my lyrium levels have fully evened out.”

“Cool. Just be careful with that lyrium shit, man. Rae says it can really mess you up.”

Before he could reply, a stick went flying past them, narrowly missing their heads. “Oops, sorry!” yelled Alistair, running after it.

________________________________________

_ Friday, 20 August, 9:30 Dragon _

Orzammar was an experience Rob would never forget. Not since they’d arrived in Thedas had he been so thoroughly aware he was in another world. The heart of the dwarves’ underground kingdom sat in a vast cavern, magma lighting it from far below. Buildings were carved directly into the stone, intricate masonry contrasting sharply with natural rock formations.

And of course, there were the dwarves. Rob was used to his height; at six feet he was usually at or over crowd level back home, though humans in Thedas seemed to skew a little taller (and more fit, something Rae attributed partly to the game artists, and partly to the lack of junk food). But here ... even a full head shorter than him, Rae was tall compared to the dwarves, and Rob felt like a hulking giant.

But despite the strangeness of the place, they got stuck dealing with everybody else’s problems the minute they got there, as usual. The dwarven king had died, and nobody could agree on a new one. For a change, the Warden actually listened to Rae’s advice, taking her, Alistair, and Leliana up to the oh-so-subtly-named Diamond District to meet the VIPs.

Afterward, they went to a Proving, a tournament where dwarves fought to settle disputes or show their skill. Rob had mixed feelings about it. Despite the rules and precautions, people could die during the events. They wore armor, which was more than could be said for a boxer or MMA fighter on Earth, but they also wielded giant swords, axes, and maces. He had to admit, though ... it was exciting to watch.

One fighter showed up weaponless. “What’s she doing?” he gasped. “She’s gonna get clobbered!”

“Oh, she is a Silent Sister,” said Leliana. “They are an order of female warriors. As the tale goes, many years ago, Astyth the Grey wished to become a soldier, but women were forbidden to fight. She tried to argue her case, but no one would listen, and finally, she cut out her tongue to show she was done talking. For a year, she saw no one, spending every day honing her skills.”

“At last, she appeared at a Proving, slipped past all the fighters, and stood weaponless in the arena. A guard tried to remove her, and she dispatched him with her bare hands. Intrigued, the king ordered more and greater of his warriors against her, and she bested each one, until finally she faced the reigning champion. He strutted about, mocking her ability, and making crude remarks about a woman’s place. But when the fight began, Astyth flowed across the arena like a dancer, moving with matchless speed and grace. She evaded the champion’s blows with ease, so often the crowd began to laugh at him. In a towering rage, he charged at her, death in his eyes. At the last moment, Astyth adjusted her stance, and the champion ran into her fist with such force it cracked his skull. He fell, dead, and his blood pooled at her feet.”

“Astyth waited then, expecting execution. Women, after all, were not permitted to compete. But due to her courage and skill, the King declared women would be accepted as soldiers from that day forward. Astyth herself became his chief bodyguard, and when she later died saving him from an assassin, she was made a Paragon, the highest honor the dwarves can bestow. To this day, a small order of women continues to remove their tongues in Astyth’s honor, dedicating themselves to a life of combat.”

Pondering the bard’s words, Rob let himself feel a little superior; people in _his_ world had freedom of speech. They didn’t have to do something crazy like cut out their tongues to make a point. But the logical voice in his head—which sounded annoyingly like his sister—swiftly reminded him of all the protests, hunger strikes, and hardships people back home endured just to be heard. Sadly, it seemed resistance of the powerful to anything that threatened the status quo was a universal constant, thwarted only by those with conviction. Rob looked at the unarmed woman in the arena with new respect, and cheered when she handily defeated her opponent.

________________________________________

_ Saturday, 21 August, 9:30 Dragon _

Aedan chose to support Prince Bhelen as the next king. They’d heard rumors of the man’s treachery, but Rob assumed his sister knew them to be false. When he asked her in private, though, he was stunned to learn otherwise. “No,” she said, troubled. “It’s true; Bhelen’s a snake. He tricked his own siblings into attacking each other, leaving one dead and the other exiled.”

“What?!” he exclaimed. “Christ, Rae, why are we helping an asshole like that become king?’

“Because he’s the better choice,” she answered miserably. “Harrowmont, the old king’s adviser, is a decent guy. But as king, he reinforces their awful caste system, seeing no problem with sentencing a whole class of people and their descendants to permanent poverty. And he isolates Orzammar even further from the rest of Thedas. Bhelen, on the other hand, works toward getting rid of the caste system, and is more willing to work with outsiders. So yeah, he’s a bad person, but it turns out, a good king.”

Rob snorted. “So we’re voting for the lesser evil, huh? Feels more and more like home.”

“It’s one similarity I could’ve done without. But I suppose at least here I can know how it turns out.”

After a long moment, he said, “You know, seeing the future doesn’t seem to make you very happy. Makes me glad I haven’t read those files you gave me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is, better me than you? Thanks; you’re a pal.”

“Oh come on, Rae. Even if I read the cheat sheets, I wouldn’t get the implications of half of it. I don’t know it all in and out like you do. But we both know that wouldn’t stop me from having opinions, and probably mouthing off about them at the worst possible time.”

“Ugh. I really want to argue, but you have a point.”

“Of course I do,” he grinned. “This is why you should just admit I’m always right.” At the rude gesture she threw him in reply, he burst into laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me that non-native English speakers might find my chapter titles odd. With the exception of the very first one, they're all bits of common sayings or famous quotes. Here's a rundown of the first several chapters, if anyone's curious; I'll do another group of them next time. :)
> 
> Ch 2: Not in Kansas
>
>> "Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore," is what Dorothy Gale says when she arrives in a strange new world in "The Wizard of Oz," just as Raven and Rob arrive in Thedas.
> 
> Ch 3: It’s Who You Know
>
>> "It's not _what_ you know, it's _who_ you know," means having the right connections is sometimes more important than having knowledge. In this case, meeting Marian Hawke proves incredibly helpful.
> 
> Ch 4: When a Plan Comes Together
>
>> "I love it when a plan comes together," was a common catch phrase for a character on an 80s TV show called "The A-Team," spoken by the team's leader who planned out their tactics. With the Hawkes on their team, Raven and Rob figure out how to proceed.
> 
> Ch 5: Such Sweet Sorrow
>
>> "Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow," is a quote from Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet, where the two lovers must part for the evening, but it's still sweet because they hope to see each other again soon. Rob and Marian say goodbye, both hoping to meet again despite the circumstances.
> 
> Ch 6: Begin with a Single Step
>
>> "A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step," is a common saying derived from a Chinese proverb, noting that no matter how large the task, it still begins with your first action to set it in motion. Aedan is on his first steps of his journey to end the Blight.
> 
> Ch 7: What You Can’t Have
>
>> "You always want what you can't have," is about how knowing something is out of reach often makes it even more appealing to us. Raven finds herself daydreaming about Alistair, though she knows she must focus on her goal to return home.
> 
> Ch 8: Leading a Horse to Water
>
>> "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink," describes a situation where you can give someone every opportunity to get what they want, but if they're too stubborn or afraid to take advantage of it, it's all for nothing. Here, Rob and Leliana are encouraging Rae's crush on Alistair, but she resists.
> 
> Ch 9: The Eye of the Beholder
>
>> "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder" means different people often have very different opinions of what's beautiful. Zevran sets out to improve Raven's self-esteem by telling her of the beauty he sees in her.
> 
> Ch 10: The Better Part of Valor
>
>> "Discretion is the better part of valor" is derived from another Shakespeare quote, this time "Henry IV, Part One," and means that sometimes it's better to approach a situation with caution than to blindly rush into a fight. Shanna makes Rob realize the fight at Kinloch is more complex than he thought.
> 
> Ch 11: In a Strange Land
>
>> “I have become a stranger in a strange land,” is from the Bible, Exodus 2:22, which talks about how, after Moses escaped Egypt, he settled in a new land and started a family there, because he couldn't return ... just as Raven grows more accustomed to life in Thedas.


	24. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oghren learns things he'd rather not have known, and acts on them.
> 
> [CW: Canon-typical violence, mention of sexual assault & suicide]

_ Wednesday, 25 August, 9:30 Dragon _

Oghren had never been a deep thinker. He knew who he was—a warrior—and what he was good at—making sure the other guy looked worse by the end of the fight. And that had been good enough for years.

Then his family had saddled him with a crazy wife, Branka, who’d gotten herself made a Paragon—the only living one. That had taken some adjustment. But it was nothing compared to when she took their whole house—uncles, cousins, the whole lot—into the Deep Roads chasing a myth.

Their whole house ... except him.

At first, he thought he’d get drunk, stay drunk, and wait it out; she’d see the Deep Roads were abandoned for a reason and come right back. But she didn’t. And when he’d argued they should go track their Paragon down, that surely a whole clan of smiths and warriors couldn’t just disappear, the sodding assembly had just laughed. “Accept it,” they’d said. “Branka’s dead.”

Admittedly, he’d gotten a little out of hand, then. He’d fought anyone who mouthed off ... until the time he’d been a little too drunk and a lot hungover, and killed some highborn whelp by accident. They could’ve just exiled him, they’d said, so he should be grateful they only stripped his house name and barred him from carrying a weapon within the city, as if it was some great favor to take what little pride he had left.

His life then had been reduced to two things: getting blind drunk, and going into the Deep Roads to search for his family. He’d never minded the Deep Roads, really; when darkspawn attacked, there weren’t any rules about how hard he was allowed to hit back. In those moments, he fell into the flow of battle and let it carry him along. And, if one day they killed him, well ... he was mostly dead already.

A couple years had passed. The king had died, and the nobles had all gotten their panties in a knot about whose arse would polish the throne next, but Oghren hadn’t seen much reason to care either way.

But then Grey Wardens had come to Orzammar.

Wardens! Their legend was impressive even to a miserable sot like him. They were the best of the best, recruited from all races, all walks of life, from the highest noble to the lowest criminal ... for the sole purpose of killing darkspawn. And they were good at it, enough that even dwarves showed them respect—something otherwise unheard of for surfacers.

So, when that slippery nug-humper Bhelen finally got done giving them the run-around and sent them out to find Branka—hoping to gain a Paragon’s support to break the stalemate—he’d demanded to go along. He been left behind enough; he wasn’t about to let it happen again. And now, he was with the strangest mix of weirdos he’d seen in his life.

Surprisingly, it felt good. It’d been a long time since he’d been part of something; it was kinda nice. And the women weren’t bad to look at either—for humans—especially since their height put some of their best bits right at eye level. As long as he didn’t run out of ale, things finally seemed to be looking up.

________________________________________

_ Wednesday, 21 August, 9:30 Dragon _

The areas close to Orzammar were patrolled, but they weren’t in the tunnels for more than a few days when they ran into their first group of darkspawn. Feeling the need to prove himself for the first time in ages, Oghren cut down more than his share of the creatures. Afterward, the shorter of the two human warriors eyed him thoughtfully. “Heh ... impressed, son?”

“I’ll admit, you know how to swing an axe,” Rob said. “I figured anybody that drunk would be more of a hazard than a help.”

“Ale’s just fuel for the Oghren fighting machine,” he boasted. “Besides, dwarves don’t need to be sober to fight darkspawn; it’s in our blood. You want somebody who knows darkspawn, you get a dwarf.”

“Or a Grey Warden,” Alistair said as he wiped the darkspawn blood off the silver griffon on his armor. 

“Or a Grey Warden,” the dwarf conceded. He’d thought the boy was kind of a sissy until he pulled off a shield bash that left two genlocks in a crumpled heap; Oghren didn’t care about much in life, but he did appreciate skill when he saw it, and taking out two darkspawn in one hit—even the smaller variety—took skill. “Met a Warden once, years back, before all this business with Branka. He was getting on in years and came down here to go out fighting, he said. Even I had to respect that.”

________________________________________

_ Tuesday, 1 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon _

After a week of wiping out darkspawn stragglers, they’d finally reached Caridin’s Cross. Oghren was in his element, and of course the dwarven merchant and his boy had been in the Deep Roads before. And Sten never changed; Oghren had met statues more emotional than that hulking Qunari. But the others grew more and more on edge.

The white-haired mage, Wynne, hid it well, though she didn’t seem the type to get flustered easy. Talked like she was older than the Stone itself, for all that she had barely more than a handful of years on him, and her interesting parts were still in the right places. She even had a proper appreciation for dwarven ale. She was all right, for a sparkle-fingers.

At first, that swishy elf seemed unfazed, but he had a tell; when he felt extra nervy, Zevran held his glove up to his face and took a big sniff. Probably some kinky Antivan perversion about leather. His other hobby was to annoy the others, to try and get a rise out of ‘em ... but that could’ve just been his natural so-called charm.

The dwarf got on best with Rob, and not just because of the compliments on his axe work. Other than Zevran, Rob was the most easy-going member of their little group, and to keep his mind off being in the Deep Roads, he plied Oghren with questions about the warrior caste and their training. Avoided talking about his own background like the plague, though. It was strange; kid held his sword and shield as if the balance wasn’t quite right, but he was better than all of them at blocking attacks from range. _‘Eh, everybody’s entitled to their secrets,’_ he decided.

Rob’s sister Raven, the cute brunette with the spectacles, had a better figure than her bony friends. She was plainly no fighter, and had to be shaking in her boots, but you’d never have known it from her words. Her strain was all physical ... jaw stiff, eyes a little too wide, muscles tensed and ready to run. Her questions were all about boring culture stuff; whenever that started getting on his nerves, he’d switch to propositioning her with a leer. She’d just laugh, but Alistair always found an urgent reason for her to be elsewhere. If the boy had any sense, he was taking her somewhere private to get those knots out of her muscles one way or another.

For all Alistair’s bravery in battle, he was attached to Raven’s hip the rest of the time. Oghren couldn’t blame the lad; if he had the chance to grab on to hips like that, he wouldn’t let go either. Truth be told, the little lovebirds were kinda sweet, not that he’d ever admit such a thing. It hadn’t taken long to figure out how Alistair handled stress: he talked. Nonstop. If the Wardens ever wanted him on a stealth mission, they’d have to issue him a blue and silver muzzle.

And speaking of talkers ... he wished Leliana’s crazy surfacer religion involved a vow of silence. The redhead was pretty, but she never shut up. For starters, she went on and on about how nugs were _cute_. ‘Adorable hairless bunnypigs,’ she called the ever-present cave vermin, and wanted to get one as a _pet_ rather than killing them for stew like any sensible person. On top of that, she had a tale for every hunk of rock they saw. There was something aggravating about hearing legends of your own people from a human who’d never even stepped foot underground until a couple weeks ago. Between her and Alistair, they could probably _talk_ the Archdemon to death.

Aedan, the head Warden, seemed fine. But Leliana was warming his bedroll—sodding Wardens, snapping up all the best womanflesh—and he heard her tell Raven he was acting distant. The poor bastard probably just gave up on trying to get a word in, with her around.

But the one having the worst time of it was Morrigan, the black-haired witch in the skimpy getup. For some reason, the daft creature took issue with having a proper ceiling over her head, and her angry yellow-eyed glare held them all personally responsible. He sympathized with Rob for having to put up with her; she was almost mean enough to remind him of Branka.

“It is simply a reasonable concern,” she’d snapped earlier, when Sten had dryly asked if she planned to continue questioning tunnel stability every five minutes. “Only fools would relax with an entire mountain suspended above their heads, supported only by crumbling abandoned stonework.”

“Eh,” said Oghren. “Dwarves build solid; nothin’ to worry about.”

“And the drunken idiot makes my point.”

In what had the feel of a long-standing feud, Alistair delighted in the witch’s discomfort. He kept commenting about how marvelous it was for the walls to hold after _so many years_ of neglect, and oh look, that pillar is completely _gone_ and yet the whole thing still stays up somehow, isn’t that wonderful?

When Morrigan finally threatened to light his boots on fire, Raven managed to steer him to another subject ... but not without her share of giggling.

________________________________________

_ Thursday, 10 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon _

There was no more giggling when they made it to the Dead Trenches. Just as they reached the outskirts of what had once been Bownammar, a faint rumble began to vibrate through the stone, and it got worse the farther they went. When they reached a narrow ledge over a broad chasm yawning across their path, they discovered the cause ... and Oghren wished they hadn’t. No matter how many ‘spawn he’d killed over the years, he wasn’t prepared for this.

At first glance, the bottom of the cavern far below them seemed to be an ordinary river of magma. But it flickered oddly, and he looked closer ... and then he swore and gripped his axe. An army of darkspawn crowded into the canyon, thousands in either direction. Genlocks, hurlocks, those stealthy shriek bastards, even a few hulking ogres, all holding torches ... and waiting. It gave him the crawling shudders. Darkspawn attacked, fought amongst themselves, even scouted and made armor now and then, but the one thing they _never_ did was stand around waiting. And yet here they were. If there was a more terrifying sight in Thedas, he couldn’t imagine it.

And then he didn’t have to imagine. He _saw_ it.

With a deafening roar, a massive dragon flew in above the darkspawn’s heads and soared toward the cavern’s roof, passing so close by the ledge where they stood that the party lunged back in terror. The monster landed with a thundering crash on the stone bridge over the ravine, and when it looked down, surveying the assembled forces, there was no doubt what it was.

An Archdemon.

Oghren swore a blue streak—quietly, under his breath—and stared at the one thing all the myriad warring peoples in Thedas could agree to fear. A noxious glow emanated from purple lesions along the creature’s black spiny carapace and leathery wings. It opened its toothy maw with a hideous roar and spouted a blast of strange purple fire. 

In response, the amassed darkspawn gave a yell that rattled the stone, and as one, they began to march, with the Archdemon flying out above them.

The party stood silent until the army passed, and there was a long, long silence even after the creatures had all gone. Finally, Oghren couldn’t take it any longer. _“Bloody sodding stones of the ancestors_ , you two Wardens are supposed to kill _that_ thing??”

The two men looked at him with wide, stricken eyes, and he realized it probably hadn’t been the best thing to say, especially when Raven gave him a glare. Odd, that; he’d have thought she would’ve been hiding behind her boyfriend quaking. But she was steadier than most of them, despite being white as a sheet. Had to hand it to her, that girl had a lot more guts than you’d think to look at her.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she said calmly, putting a hand on both Wardens’ shoulders. “And don’t forget, we won’t be fighting it alone. We’ll have our own army at our backs. Don’t lose hope. You _can_ do this. I _know_ you can.”

Her little pep talk worked magic; they both gave her a sharp, searching look, and then exhaled shakily. Aedan gave a decisive nod, and Alistair hugged the scholar tightly. “You’re right; of course you’re right, my dear,” he said. “What would we do without your level head?”

“Curl up in a ball and cry for your mothers, probably,” Morrigan sniped.

“That would certainly be better than crying for _your_ mother,” Alistair shot back.

Aedan interrupted. “As much as I always love the fond sibling rivalry you two have going, can we perhaps not do this right now?” The witch and the warrior left off, then, and the subdued group moved onward down the narrow ledge toward the gates of Bownammar.

When they reached the bridge, they were surprised to discover they weren’t the only people present. A handful of warriors from the Legion of the Dead stood, backs against the stone, fending off a seemingly endless stream of darkspawn stragglers trickling across the bridge. The party pitched in, and soon the last of the monsters were wiped out, finally giving them all a moment to catch their breath.

“Nice little visitor we had, don’t you think?” said their leader, Kardol, with an unnatural level of calm. He supposed for members of the Legion, there was little cause for fear—technically they were all already dead. That was the nature of the Legion, and its strength. Criminals, men and women desperate to redeem their family names, or just to do everything they could to fight off the ‘spawn, they all joined for their own reasons. Truth be told; he’d considered it himself a time or two, but something held him back.

They’d have a big funeral with all their family and friends, just like normal ... except for the minor detail that the dearly departed was standing there breathing. When it was over, they went off into the Deep Roads to fight until true death took them. Except for the odd commander who had to come back for orders, they never saw the halls of Orzammar again.

But it wasn’t surprising, really, how many chose the Legion, especially among the casteless. They already spent their lives fighting to survive; reclaiming a little honor for doing it likely seemed a solid bargain. Nothing fiercer than a person with nothing to lose. Oghren had never thought much about the casteless until Branka left; they were just part of how things were. The stone was hard, magma was hot, and casteless were dust. But when the Assembly stripped him of his titles and house, he found himself taking a lot more notice of the poor sods. And it didn’t seem right, really. Sure, somebody who did wrong had to pay the price; he was proof of that. But punishing all their descendants for the rest of time seemed unfair.

Of course, when thoughts like that hit him, he usually took it as a sign he hadn’t had enough ale yet that day. And any sympathy he might have had in the moment vanished when Kardol nodded in his direction and warned Aedan that drunks made poor allies.

Still, though ... just like with the Wardens, Oghren had to give them respect. The members of this unit of the Legion were surely all fighters to be reckoned with, or they’d have been long dead before they got this far from Orzammar. They had skills, and they used them for good purpose. It made him think about what his skills were used for ... which was an uncomfortable notion, so he pulled out his flask and took a swig, ignoring the other dwarf’s judgmental eye.

At any rate, the Legion had been there observing the gathering darkspawn army, but hadn’t been able to do anything with no king to give orders. Sodding typical, that warriors out here trying to protect Orzammar with their lives should be hobbled by useless nobles squabbling about who got the biggest chair. 

But then again, nothing much was making sense anymore. An Archdemon. Ancestors have mercy.

Despite Kardol’s dire warnings about the suicidal foolishness of their quest, they progressed into Bownammar, cutting through ‘spawn all the way. There were more of them here than they’d encountered up to that point, but other than that, it was normal Deep Roads work.

Until they heard it. _“First day they come, and take everyone.”_

The voice echoed weirdly, such that even he, who’d spent all his life in caves and tunnels, couldn’t pinpoint the source. It was ... unnerving, was what it was. It sounded female and vaguely familiar, which made it worse. It couldn’t be a darkspawn; they didn’t talk, and Kardol’s group was the Legion’s forward line. So who was down here muttering nonsense at them without showing their face?

_“Second day, they beat us and eat some for meat.”_

Well sodding balls, that was a bad sign. Anybody talking about being eaten for meat was not having a great day. Oghren wondered if they were finally about to learn the fate of his clan ... and couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. But there was nowhere to go but forward, and each dead darkspawn brought him one step closer to getting answers.

_“Third day, the men are all gnawed on again.”_

Sod it all. His clan, it had to be. Paragon’s tits, what could’ve happened to them? His kin were all warriors, born and bred. Branka’s relations were smith caste, but what they lacked in training they made up for in muscle; life at a forge made them strong enough to bash in a monster’s skull without breaking a sweat. What could have led them to such a pass?

_“Fourth day, we wait and fear for our fate.”_

Well no sodding kidding.

_“Fifth day, they return and it's another girl's turn.”_

Another ... what? Oghren’s skin crawled as they pressed on through Bownammar. Another girl’s turn for _what_? Stood to reason it was different than what happened to the men; the voice already shared _their_ grisly end. So what did the ‘spawn do with the women? And then their hidden informant told him.

_“Sixth day, her screams we hear in our dreams. Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. Eighth day, we hated as she is violated.”_

He blanched beneath the cover of his long ginger beard. Everyone knew the darkspawn took captives. They’d always assumed it was to eat, or torture for, well, fun, since the monsters weren’t smart enough to try to interrogate someone. But this ... this was a thousand times worse.

They stopped to process this fresh horror. The men looked like he felt, appalled and sick. But the women... Morrigan clutched her staff with fury in every line of her body as she searched for something to kill. Wynne clenched her jaw, but the rage in the depths of her eyes belied her usual serenity. Leliana was unnaturally still; her cheeks were wet, but her hands were steady on her bow, with an arrow at the ready. Raven shook, losing her calm for the first time he’d seen, but she wore an odd blend of ferocity and resignation, as if it were too late for anything but vengeance.

Oghren tried not to think about what they’d find ahead. Even a deep pull from his flask didn’t help. It only intensified with the last lines of the strange and haunting poem: _“Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin. Now she does feast, as she's become the beast.”_

Blood of the Paragons, what had been done to his family in this den of nightmares?

He found out soon enough. They entered a gruesome charnel pit of a chamber, and found the source of the mysterious voice. Oghren gaped in shock. It was his cousin Hespith, the captain of Branka’s personal guard, but ... there wasn’t much left of her. Her eyes, filled with a yawning madness, gleamed silver in the feeble light, and her face was covered with peeling Blight sores. He couldn’t tell if the rotting stench of death came from her, or if it was just so thick in the air it permeated every breath. If he hadn’t spent his life in combat, he’d have puked up his toenails. He almost did anyway, when he realized the bodies piled around her—some carved and spitted like a bronto before feast day—were his own kin, people he’d grown up with and fought with and loved. He’d known there was a chance he’d find them dead, but even on his worst drinking binges, he never imagined anything like this.

When they gleaned what information they could from Hespith’s disjointed ramblings, the picture that came together was appalling. The way the ‘spawn made more of themselves was even more horrific than anyone realized, and he was glad dwarves didn’t dream because this was enough to give him screaming nightmares for the rest of his days. The monsters had taken the women of his house, fed them darkspawn blood and the flesh of their own sodding people, and ... violated them, as Hespith put it. And with that, the victims were twisted beyond all recognition into huge, hideous broodmothers, forced to birth monsters in litters, dozens at a time, for the rest of their lives.

He was so stunned by that revelation, he almost missed it when Hespith mentioned Branka. The mad woman ran off before they could get the full story, but what was clear was that they’d been lovers. He stared into space as the eyes of the party swiveled to him. _‘Yes, fine, take a good look,’_ he thought bitterly. _‘Crazy drunk Oghren cut through mountains of ‘spawn to rescue a woman who’d been a moss-licker behind his back all along; what a pathetic fool.’_

It seemed like he should feel more ... well, _something_ ... at learning the truth, but alongside everything else, it just didn’t seem important. Any pride he’d had was gone a long time ago. All he wanted now was to find Branka and bring her back to Orzammar. Oghren wasn’t much of a dwarf anymore, but he still had respect for the Paragons ... and bringing the dwarves’ only living Paragon back alive was the one thing he’d latched onto to give his miserable life purpose.

Wordlessly, they continued forward, stepping gingerly over a growing web of veins that grew over the floor like a disease. And then they turned a corner, and...

Great sodding balls of the Ancestors, it was ... horror beyond words. Hespith had said this broodmother had once been his cousin Laryn, but there was no sign of that calm, fierce fighter in this monstrosity. The thing towered over even Alistair and the Qunari, wider than nearly the whole party put together, its short arms supplemented by slimy waving tentacles. A few wispy tufts of golden hair clung to its scalp as the only reminder it had once been a person. If there was ever a fate worse than death, it was this.

In a bloody battle, he and the others put the thing out of its misery, despite the waves of darkspawn that rushed in from every direction to protect it. When it was finally down, Hespith reappeared, and they learned what his crazy bitch of a wife had done. She hadn’t just escaped this; she’d _allowed_ it to happen to her own people, to gain an endless supply of foot soldiers for her mad quest.

_‘Ancestor’s tits, Branka,’_ he thought, eyeing the broodmother’s mangled corpse with revulsion. _‘How could you? How could you do this to your own kin?’_ Before they could think of what, if anything, to do for Hespith, she made the decision for them. As soon as she’d shown them the way Branka had gone, she leapt from a nearby ledge to her death. He couldn’t blame her; he’d cut his own throat if _that_ was his fate.

They returned back through Bownammar to update the Legion on what had happened. Swallowing hard, Aedan related how the darkspawn reproduced, and after a flash of horror, Kardol’s tattooed face hardened with even stronger resolve. The grim warriors gave them space within their camp, and pledged to guard them for the night while they slept.

The party sat silently around the small fire the Legion had built for them. Raven sat cradled in Alistair’s arms, and Leliana rested in Aedan’s lap; even Morrigan had unbent enough to sit beside Rob, their shoulders touching. He thought fleetingly of Branka, and realized he’d never have a moment like that with her again; even if she lived, he could never forgive what she’d done. Standing abruptly with flask in hand, he walked off alone to find a quiet place to not think.

To his surprise, Raven rose and followed. “Oghren,” she began, “I ... I don’t know how you must feel right now, but I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

He snorted. “Not easy? Wife’s not dead, turns out she likes women and left me for my own cousin ... and that’s the part of the whole thing that’s _not_ sodding insane. Yeah, I’d say ‘not easy’ covers it.”

“How do you think it got this far? Surely all those people wouldn’t have left Orzammar with her if they thought she’d abandon them to the darkspawn ...?”

He scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Branka, she had a way of making it seem like whatever she wanted was just how things had to be. She was always so sure of everything; made it hard to argue.” He chuckled. “I still managed it, mind. Nobody pushes Oghren around.”

She smiled. “I don’t doubt it. Anyway, I just wanted to say I’m glad you joined us. You’ve been a big help, and we wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.”

“Why you telling me this? If you’re trying to get a piece of this action, lady, you just gotta say the word.”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, and though the sound felt out of place, he joined her. They both knew his exaggerated leering was a reflex at this point, not a serious attempt—though he’d have taken her up on it if she ever reciprocated, of course; he still had a pulse.

“No, I just think you were a respected warrior before Branka, and it wasn’t fair how she left you to get treated that way. No matter how she felt for you, that wasn’t right. You deserved better.”

The dwarf blinked. Respected, that was the right of it. He’d been a champion, on top of the warrior caste. That’s how he’d gotten saddled with Branka in the first place; her family thought it was a valuable match for her. He supposed it had been, at that; if she hadn’t married a warrior, nobody would have made it through the Deep Roads to find her crazy arse.

“My point is, you shouldn’t define yourself by who she made you. Under all of that ... and possibly several dead animals, by the stench,” she teased, “is the fighter all of Orzammar cheered for. You’re still that person. Don’t let her make you think otherwise.” Oghren had no response for that. He’d been used to getting ridiculed for so long it was almost hard to remember a time when he’d been anything else. 

She continued. “When all this is done, we’ll be going on to lead the battle against the Blight. Orzammar probably won’t forget your history, but on the surface, you could start over. Just something to think about.”

And it was.

________________________________________

_ Sunday, 20 Kingsway, 9:30 Dragon _

Finally, last night, they’d found Branka. She’d located the Anvil of the Void, the device ancient dwarves used to create golems—the thing the fool woman had come down here hunting in the first place. But its creator, the Paragon Caridin, had plainly not wanted it found; it was protected by a gauntlet of deadly traps. Branka had flung her own kin at the hazards, trying to brute force a way through, and when she’d started to run out, she’d sacrificed the rest to the darkspawn in return for more lives to spend. Oghren had known she was crazier than a clumsy lyrium runner, but this ... this was just monstrous.

Branka flatly refused to go back without the Anvil. So that night they camped in a cavern just outside the bloodshed, resting up for the ordeal to come.

The next day, the Warden figured out all the traps, and the party was stunned to find the ancient Paragon Caridin at the end, still alive ... after a fashion. Turned out the golems so lauded for protecting Orzammar were made by taking dwarven volunteers and putting them, still awake and aware, into molten lyrium-infused metal. Though the process was horrible, Caridin had deemed it necessary for their survival. But when his king started sending him dwarves who _hadn’t_ volunteered, he’d put his foot down. So the king had made him the next victim.

Caridin urged them to destroy the Anvil, saying it would only be used to harm others. Branka finally turned up then, screeching that it was the salvation of the dwarves. The Warden, with a sideways glance at Raven, told Caridin they would do as he asked. Of course, crazy Branka wouldn’t let that go without a fight. At first, Oghren wasn’t sure how to react to that development, but when the harpy tried to remove his head, it made up his mind. 

When it was all over, his wife, the only living Paragon, lay bleeding on the floor. It would’ve been nice if she’d had a kind word for him at the last ... but that wasn’t Branka’s style. She simply glared at him and turned away, and then she was gone.

________________________________________

_ Saturday, 17 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon _

Caridin had made them a crown to give to the fool nobles back in Orzammar, to settle the question of who’d be king once and for all, but Oghren hardly cared. Instead, as they made their long and largely uneventful trip back through the Deep Roads, he thought about what the scholar had said. Who was the Oghren that remained, now that there was no house left, no Branka to find? Introspection wasn’t really his thing, so it had to be lubricated with a lot of ale, but by the time the Warden crowned Bhelen and was ready to leave Orzammar, he’d made up his mind.

“I’d like to go with you, if you don’t mind,” he said.

“Are you certain?” Leliana piped up in surprise. “If you leave, you will be made casteless. It is not a decision to be made lightly—or while drunk,” she added.

“I know what I’m doing, girlie, don’t you worry about ol’ Oghren. Best I’ll get if I stay is a lot of pitying looks and bad jokes, and I’ve had more than my fill of that. At least on the surface, there’ll be something new.”

“Bathing, for instance,” Morrigan snarked.

“Oho, should I get all freshened up for you? I knew it; the ladies can’t resist the beard.”

“Only if they get inadvertently stuck to it,” she scoffed. But in the end, the Warden agreed to his request.

As they neared the great gate, he slowed. Raven came to walk beside him. “All right, Oghren?”

“Yeah, I ... just never thought I’d be making this trip, you know? Had an idea what my life was gonna be, and this wasn’t any part of it.”

She snorted. “Oh, I understand, believe me.” Then she nodded at a statue of Branka as they passed by. “But you don’t want to sit in that shadow forever, do you?”

“Nah, I’m not backing out; it’s just a big deal. You, ah ... you’re sure nobody can fall up into the sky, right?”

She smiled, and it was a kinder look than he’d gotten in years. “Nobody can fall into the sky, I promise. You know how your feet stay on the ground in Orzammar, instead of letting you fall up to clunk your head on the roof? Same thing works out there. You won’t fall.”

He nodded, and with a deep breath, took his first step out into the sun.

“Bloody Stone, you didn’t warn me it was so sodding bright out here!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hurrying to get this out before midnight so it's still DRAGON AGE DAY....YAAAAAAAAYYYY! :D


	25. In Glass Houses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rob finds many unsettling thoughts and also a dragon.

_ Friday, 23 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon _

Rob had been relieved to emerge from the dwarven kingdom. It was interesting, sure (other than the bits that were pure nightmare fuel), but by the time they left, he agreed with Morrigan; man wasn’t made to live in a hole in the ground. Seeing the sun again after two months, he’d felt the weight of the mountain falling off his shoulders.

The others had clearly sensed it too. Oghren was still adjusting, but everyone else got along better than they ever had. Rae and Alistair continued to corner the Thedas market on disgusting cuteness, and Aedan shook himself out of the funk he’d been in. Even Morrigan had an occasional kind word, threatening to gut Zevran far less often than normal.

It had been the best Rob had felt since ... well, before they’d left the Hawkes, a thought he quickly called a halt on. After the Deep Roads, he knew there was a good chance none of them would survive the Blight, regardless of his sister’s confidence. He’d decided then it was better to focus on the present than to get angsty about an uncertain fate.

They traveled south along the western shore of Lake Calenhad. In one mountain pass, a lone merchant offered them a control rod for an old golem.

“We’ve seen more than enough golems lately, thanks,” Rob snorted. But Rae, with the evasive look she got when she was trying not to tell the future, said it might come in handy. Alistair perked up when the man told them the golem sat in the town of Honnleath. “That’s where Cullen is from,” he said, his eyes darting between Aedan and Rae. “We ... we could check on his family for him.” Decision made, they thanked the merchant and moved on toward Haven.

Not long after, he found himself walking beside Sten. Despite traveling with the Qunari for six months, Rob had never really gotten to know him ... in part because of Sten’s taciturn nature, but also because his outlook on things was so alien.

“Hey Sten,” he asked, “Do the Qunari know about the Deep Roads, or use them?”

“Why?” the gray-skinned giant demanded flatly.

He was taken aback at the abrupt response. “I—uh, I guess to make conversation?”

“So I am to chat for your entertainment? You would do better to approach the bard if that is what you seek.”

Rob raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a friendly one? I just noticed nobody seems to know much about you guys, and my mom always said most conflict comes from people not understanding each other.”

“There is nothing to understand. The _bas_ are weak and undisciplined,” Sten stated. “They wander about, not knowing their place, wasting energy trying to be what they are not. The Qun eliminates this.”

“What, so, you prefer the system the dwarves have, where you’re born into a caste and stuck there?”

“Do not be ridiculous. Such a foolish practice results in forcing those who have no aptitude for a task into a life where they are unable to excel.”

“But you just said—”

Sten sighed, his annoyed expression shifting into patient condescension. “Under the Qun, we are placed where we will most serve all Qunari.”

“Who decides that?”

“Our _tamassrans_. In part, they raise our young, but more importantly, they watch and learn their talents and temperaments. When it comes time, they evaluate these factors, and assign children to the roles where they will perform best.”

Rob frowned. “But that sounds ... I mean, people change through their lifetimes; they’re not always interested in the same things as when they’re kids. What if these _tamassrans_ are wrong?”

“They are not wrong. _Tamassrans_ are highly respected. Their position requires more training than any other, where they hone their natural talent for analyzing and assessing souls and minds to an edge. They judge not upon fleeting interests, but upon deeper strengths of character.” He paused, tilting his head. “If your sister were Qunari, she would be a _tamassran_ , I suspect.”

“I feel like that’s a bigger compliment than I understand,” Rob said.

“Then you are smarter than you look.”

________________________________________

_ Monday, 26 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon _

Rob watched Raven walk around the weird little village of Haven, her eyes bright with curiosity. Leliana was less enthused. “I don’t like this. It’s almost too quiet. Something’s not right. I can feel it.”

“What, besides how the only man who’s spoken with us urged us to leave?” Morrigan snarked. “Or perhaps you refer to the altar in yonder cabin, doused in blood. The way the villagers have all tried to kill us on sight? ‘Tis _so mysterious_ why something might feel amiss.”

The weirdness factor only increased when they entered the town’s small Chantry and found most of the remaining residents staring in rapt attention at an oddly garbed priest. Rob was no expert on the Chantry, but he knew the big important bit was how the prophet Andraste was betrayed and killed. This priest talked like she was still alive.

“That’s impossible!” Leliana exclaimed, clutching an amulet Aedan had given her, rubbing her thumb over the embossed symbol of the Chantry. “These people are surely mad!”

“Seems that way,” Rob agreed. The priest, it seemed, did not appreciate their assessment; he and the villagers attacked.

Once their foes were dispatched, the group took a look around. Rob couldn’t contain his delight when he noticed a brick wall that didn’t match the rest of the structure. “Holy shit, Rae! An honest-to-god secret door!” He pressed a hidden panel, and when it swung open, he gleefully sang a Legend of Zelda fanfare. “You think they hid the Master Sword back there?” He turned to see his sister stifling a snicker while everyone else stared like he’d grown an extra head. “It’s, um ... this game we played as kids, it’s ... a long story, actually; never mind.” Embarrassed, he hastily stepped through the concealed doorway.

They didn’t find a magic sword, but they did find the famous Brother Genetivi, in bad shape but alive. After a healing spell from Wynne, he perked up and confirmed Andraste’s ashes were in a nearby temple. In short order, they set out.

They set out on a path that led steadily uphill, but the exertion didn’t stop Rae from chattering at the Chantry scholar like a star-struck fan. Brother Genetivi’s many books documented his travels across the width and breadth of Thedas, so she was bursting with questions. Genetivi looked more than a little amused by Rae’s enthusiasm but he was happy to share his knowledge, and his tales of far-off lands were interesting and surprisingly funny. Rob was almost sad when they reached their destination.

Aedan asked Brother Genetivi what they might encounter in the once-grand temple. The scholar quoted a vague bit of poetry about the Maker’s wrath awaiting the unbeliever, but Rob couldn’t resist laughing when he added, “Read between the lines, and you’ll understand that it is merely a simple truth draped in hyperbole and metaphor. After all, no one wants to hear: ‘Willy toiled for many a year to perfect the curious mechanisms that would send a sharpened spike up the arse of the unwary intruder.’”

Between the threat of those “curious mechanisms” and the villagers’ “kill first, chat later” attitude, Aedan decided he and Zevran would take point, with the archers next. It served the dual purpose of spotting and disarming traps and eliminating their foes before they raised an alarm, but it was not a fighting style Rob enjoyed. They’d approach a barracks or a library and hear normal-sounding people inside, wondering about the dinner menu or wishing for a warmer pair of socks. And then the rogues would stealth in, and those normal-sounding people would be dead on the floor.

“Shouldn’t we at least give them a chance to surrender?” he said uneasily.

It surprised him when the normally compassionate Leliana shook her head. “There is no point. These are fanatics. They believe they are the valiant defenders of the risen Andraste, and they will die to protect her.” She paused. “If I were tasked to guard Andraste, that is what I would do. Some things are more important than one’s own life.”

Sadly, the bard wasn’t wrong. Rob knew cults were a thing; he’d seen some of the weirder ones on TV back home. But it was unsettling to see in person, and he couldn’t help but feel there should be a way to redeem these people. He wasn’t giving the orders; Aedan was ... but as they continued to bust in on people and murder them, he had to wonder where the line was between the good guys and the bad guys.

His concern faded when they ran into the official leader of Crazytown, a priest named Kolgrim. For a nice change, he was willing to use his words, but he didn’t give them any reprieve from the weirdness.

According to Kolgrim, Andraste had been reborn as a dragon. _‘Because of course,’_ Rob thought. _‘I mean, obviously a chick known for helping people and singing would come back as a giant lizard that eats people and mainly says grr, rawr.’_ Not only did the cultists claim Andraste’s spirit inhabited the body of a dragon, they worshipped the creature, fed it, and tended its young. The tone of Kolgrim’s voice was a flashing neon sign advertising batshit insanity.

Though he’d started out in “smite the wicked” mode, Kolgrim pulled a sudden one-eighty and tried to make a deal with them. Some guardian would no longer admit them to the innermost parts of the shrine, he said. _‘Gee, I can’t imagine why that might be, Mr. Crazy Cult Man,’_ he thought. The dragon apparently couldn’t regain her full powers because of this. Kolgrim agreed to let them pass if they agreed to take a vial of Andraste Junior’s blood and mix it in with Andraste Senior’s remains. Leliana was appalled at this suggestion and, since the ashes were the whole reason they’d come here in the first place, Aedan swiftly declined.

The resulting fight was brutal. The cult clearly had no problem with magic because their mages were front and center and totally cool with wreaking as much havoc as possible. Nonetheless, eventually they defeated the psycho brigade and made their way out into the sun.

And that’s when he saw it. A real, live dragon. It may not have been the reincarnation of a dead prophet, but it was still amazing.

Rob knew his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t be bothered to care ... and anyway, how could you _not_ stop and stare? It was a literal freaking dragon! The thing was as long as a bus, maybe twice as wide and tall depending on how it held its giant head. One tooth _alone_ was as big as Oghren!

“So ...” he asked. “Are we gonna fight it?”

The reactions in the party were an even split of eagerness and dismay.

“Fight _that_ thing? On _purpose_? A High Dragon is not a joke. I’ve already got a huge lizard to kill in my future; one’s quite enough, thanks,” Alistair said wryly.

“For once—and it galls me to say this—I agree with Alistair,” Morrigan chimed in. “Be cautious. A dragon such as this is better to avoid than engage.”

“Oh, come on,” groaned the dwarf. “Finally, a foe _worthy_ of the great Oghren! We _have_ to fight it!”

When everyone had weighed in, Leliana and Zevran wanted to bypass the creature, but Sten and Aedan were eyeing it with eager speculation. Wynne didn’t care either way. “Oh, I’m not afraid,” she joked. “It wouldn’t eat me anyhow. Tough and stringy. You lot, on the other hand ...”

All eyes turned to Raven, and Rob sighed and waited for her to urge caution ... but to his surprise, she gave Alistair an apologetic glance and said, “I vote we fight.”

The Warden gaped in shock. “What? Why?”

“Think about it. When Brother Genetivi tells the Chantry about this place, people will want to come here to study, worship, all that kind of stuff. How safe will they be if we leave a fire-breathing dragon hanging around to say hi?”

At that reasoning, the others relented. Rob’s pulse pounded in his ears as Aedan and Sten plotted out a battle strategy. Rae held tight to Alistair, looking much like she had in Orzammar when she knew the decision was right but wasn’t happy about it.

Once they had a plan, they headed out onto the small plateau. The huge purple dragon sat on a ledge far above them, watching them and flexing her massive wings, but she didn’t stir ... until Aedan blew a long note on a horn the crazy priest had been carrying. With a rush of wind, she swooped down before them.

The battle was on.

Alistair taunted the dragon to face her away from the others. With help from the mages, he bravely deflected jets of flame with his shield. The other warriors hacked at scaled flanks. The rogues danced in and out of danger with abandon, and the archers fired at any glimpse of the dragon’s underbelly. All was going well; they were chipping away at the creature ... and then it happened. The dragon inhaled, and Alistair tried to brace for the fiery breath, but his back foot slipped on a stray rock. With a yell of surprise, he fell. The so-called Andraste reached out one of her giant talons toward the Warden. There was no way Alistair would get up fast enough. Without thinking, Rob darted in front of his friend.

The pain was instant and excruciating. The huge talon wrapped around his body from chest to hips. As the dragon shook him and squeezed, he screamed, hearing his own bones break with a sickening wet crack. His whole awareness narrowed to forcing air into his battered lungs, and though it was probably only seconds, it felt like years until the dragon tired of him and flung him away like an unwanted rag doll. The ground rushed up to meet him, and when the impact sent his broken torso crashing into all the sharp dents in his armor, he shrieked in agony before the world mercifully went black.

________________________________________

When next he woke, both Raven and Morrigan hovered over him, and for once, they weren’t sniping at each other. He decided not to tell them how similar their looks of relief were when they saw he’d come to. He took an experimental deep breath and regretted it, though not as much as he expected. Wynne’s doing, no doubt; healing spells were one thing he’d always appreciate.

“Thank God you’re okay,” Rae said, eyes shimmering wetly. “When that monster picked you up and _threw_ you, I ...” She hung her head. “I’m so sorry; I should never have agreed to fight it.”

If Rob had ever doubted the existence of miracles, he would’ve changed his mind then. Morrigan opened her mouth—no doubt to unleash a venomous “I told you so”—and then closed it again. Her wolf-yellow gaze surveyed his face before she spoke. “Combat always carries danger. Any of us might perish at any time. ‘Tis foolish to berate yourself for something out of your control. Your brother is strong and will recover; let that be an end to it.”

Startled, Rae looked up, meeting Morrigan’s gaze over Rob’s prone form. “I—yes, I guess you’re right.” She forced a smile. “I should go tell Alistair you’re awake. I sent him off with Leliana to get Brother Genetivi, but he’s been beside himself with worry since they got back.” Rob squeezed her hand, and chuckled when she kissed his forehead like she had when he was young.

Once she’d left, he looked up at Morrigan. “Hey, pookie,” he said with a ghost of his usual smirk.

“Ugh, ‘tis obvious you’ve recovered, if you’ve already resumed being an insufferable ass.”

“You like it,” he grinned. “But, in seriousness ... thank you for saying that to Rae. I imagine she didn’t react well to me getting tossed around like a chew toy.”

Morrigan tilted her head. “It was odd to see one so cold overcome with feeling. Leliana had to seize her by the arm to keep her from running out to you, and she only regained her wits when Aedan stealthed in and dragged you from harm’s way.”

He chose to ignore her comment about Rae’s lack of emotion, despite the extreme temptation to point out the irony. Instead, he listened while she updated him on events. They’d killed the dragon, and then carried Rob to the inner temple to get him off the icy ground. They’d had to discard the mangled remnants of his armor. Morrigan had put him under a sleep spell for about an hour while Wynne healed his injuries. “And ...” she began, but stopped.

“And what?”

“Nothing; I ... am pleased you survived.” She forced the emotion out of her expression, opting for a more familiar look of disdain. “Despite your misplaced impulse to save that fool Alistair, of all people.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay too,” he said, drawing her down for a kiss. Slowly, the tension melted out of her. When they finally parted, he added, “Pookie.”

________________________________________

Rob shrugged, trying to settle his unfamiliar new armor into place. While he was unconscious, Oghren and Sten had searched the cultists’ belongings for gear to fit him. Their concern had taken him by surprise. Despite being in Thedas for over six months, he still saw himself as an outsider ... but when even the gruff Qunari and the drunken dwarf cared for his well-being, he had to concede that might not be the case.

Once he was back on his feet, he and the others filed through the only other door in the small antechamber, to find a similar room with a lone knight standing among the cracked stonework. “I bid you welcome, pilgrims,” he said, in a hollow, echoing voice. It gave Rob the creeps, but at least the guy confirmed Andraste’s ashes were near.

Of course, nothing could ever be easy. He told them they’d have to run a gauntlet of four tests of faith to prove themselves worthy. Rob elbowed his sister, whispering. “You didn’t tell me there was an Indiana Jones section in this story. When we get to ‘only the penitent man shall pass,’ give me a heads-up.” He snickered. “Ha ... heads-up, get it?”

Rae rolled her eyes, but before she could reply, the knight turned to Aedan. “You abandoned your father and mother, leaving them in the hands of Rendon Howe, knowing he would show no mercy,” he said. “Do you think you failed your parents?”

Rob frowned. Aside from the weirdness of Ser Spooky knowing Aedan’s history, it seemed pretty uncool to throw the death of his mom and dad in his face. A muscle ticked in Aedan’s jaw as he responded in the affirmative. 

The Guardian, as he called himself, then worked his way through the group, bringing up their worst doubts and fears. He asked Alistair if he should’ve died at Ostagar in place of his mentor; not looking at Rae, he said yes. Leliana denied making up her vision from the Maker to get attention. Wynne and Brother Genetivi both admitted they sometimes doubted the wisdom they dispensed to others. Sten stoically acknowledged his guilt for his crimes in Lothering. Zevran bit off his reply and refused to elaborate on it, and Morrigan declined to answer altogether.

Oghren’s response, though, hit hardest. “Why don’t I save you some time?” the dwarf grated. “Yes, I wish I could have saved my family from Branka. I wish I’d been a better mate; maybe she’d have stayed home and never gone after the Anvil. Maybe I failed her. And yes, I came to the surface because I’m barely a dwarf anymore. My family is dead, my honor as a warrior long gone. I’ve lost my caste and my house and I have nothing else to lose.” The silence that followed that painful confession was broken only by the sound of Oghren unscrewing his flask for a sip of composure.

Rob was still groping for an encouraging response when the Guardian turned to him. _‘Well,’_ he thought, _‘this should be interesting.’_

“Young soldier,” the Guardian said, “you are far from home.” It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer. Inclining his head in acknowledgement, the strange knight continued. “You claim you wish to return, but dream of blue eyes. And yet, you chase wisps in the darkness. Are you truly so faithless?”

_‘Well shit,’_ Rob thought. How was he supposed to answer that? He was grateful the weird ghost-dude hadn’t mentioned Marian and Morrigan by name and made it even more awkward, but ... lacking a better option, he chose the truth. “I don’t know, to be honest. I’m way out of my depth here. All I can do is hang on and hope it all makes sense eventually.”

His answer must’ve sufficed, because the Guardian nodded and moved on to Rae, who wore a mask of false calm. “And last of all, the woman out of place.” The silence stretched out, making his next words a near-physical slap, and she flinched. “Lothering. Kinloch. Orzammar. Even today. You doubt your choices, and yet you persist in them. Do you believe you have the right to manipulate people thus, to save some and leave others to die?”

She blinked rapidly and stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “No,” she replied at last. “But I can’t just sit and do _nothing_. I try to do my best, but ... it’s not good enough. It’s _never_ good enough. It never _will_ be.”

Alistair was quick to wrap an arm around her shoulders. “You are too hard on yourself. No one's perfect,” he said, and she gave him a weak smile that seemed more for his benefit than her own.

“That is all I wished to know,” said the Guardian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! With Satinalia (and, you know, Christmas) fast approaching, I wasn't sure I was going to get this done in time, but with much support and encouragement, I made it. :) I forgot to post links in all my usual places last time, with all the excitement of Dragon Age Day, so if you had two chapters to catch up on today ... Happy Satinalia, I guess? lol.
> 
> Speaking of Dragon Age Day, I made a little video for it of some of my favorite quotes from the series. Feel free to [check it out here](https://youtu.be/ZEWC6cMSO5I). :)
> 
> I promise that someday I will finish going over the inspiration for my chapter titles...but today is not that day, lol.
> 
> Happy Holidays, everyone! :x


	26. More Things in Heaven & Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven wrestles with the big picture and finds her real focus. (Also, fluffiness.)

_ Monday, 26 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon _

Other than being raked over the figurative coals by the strange knight, Raven had enjoyed the Gauntlet. First, they'd entered a large chamber with eight waiting spirits, all major figures from the life of Andraste. Rae was glad she'd deviated from game events to bring Brother Genetivi along; when he realized who the spirits were, he was beside himself with awe. Shartan, the elven leader who'd brought his people to join Andraste's cause... Havard, the warrior who braved death to recover her ashes... even the prophet's husband Maferath, reviled for betraying her into their enemies' hands, all waited to greet them with a riddle that had to be solved correctly to reach the next room.

But when they came to the spirit representing Archon Hessarian, she was struck by a sudden thought. "I met your mother," she blurted, and both the spirit and her companions looked at her like she'd gone mad.

"You... what?" Naturally, Genetivi was the one who broke the silence to learn more.

"Hessarian's mother," she blushed. "She was a seer named Eleni Zinovia. After she made a prophecy the previous Archon didn't like, he had her bound into a statue as punishment. She's in the basement at Kinloch now, and I got to talk to her when I was there."

Hessarian wavered, as if thinking stole his focus from remaining visible, but then his visage firmed. "My mother is still trapped after all these years?" The echoing spectral voice was rich with sorrow.

"Yes, but it's not as bad as you'd think. She's protected and safe, and the mages there have great respect for her knowledge, asking her about ancient magics and such. And... she really helped me, personally." Rae glanced up to meet the spirit's piercing gaze. "She's proud of you, by the way. For what you did. For who you became."

This time Hessarian's form wavered so violently she feared he would disappear altogether, and she prayed she hadn't interfered with their ability to proceed. But then he stilled. "I thank you, traveler. You have shown me kindness in this." It was especially poignant, then, when Hessarian spoke his riddle, to which the apt answer was "Mercy."

"I wish I could've spoken to them longer, but they vanish once their question is answered." Brother Genetivi sighed, then brightened. "But surely this place was built for more than one group of pilgrims. Perhaps the spirits will return once we complete the trials."

When they entered the next room, Rae expected to see the ghostly visage of Aedan's father, like in the game. Instead, between one blink and the next, the rest of the party vanished, and Cullen stood before her. "Hello, Raven," he said.

"Cullen? Why are you here? You're... you're all right, aren't you? Nothing's happened?"

"Be at ease; my true self is well and settling in with the apprentices in Kirkwall. But my image comes to you here because you fear all you did to help me was not enough. You agonize over all you have done and left undone, and you must not torment yourself this way."

She shook her head and sighed. "How can I not? I see all these paths, and I try to pick the best ones, but... what if I get it wrong? What if I make a mistake?"

His whiskey-hued eyes held her gaze thoughtfully. "Yes, exactly," he said.

"...what?"

"What if you make a mistake?"

Her mind flashed to the charred corpses in Lothering, but Cullen shook his head. "People would have died in Lothering no matter what you did; you know that. You are only one person. No one—not you or anyone else—can blame you for failing at the impossible."

"How can you say that? If I'd been faster, better, just, I don't know, _more_... maybe we could've saved you sooner!"

"But are you _certain_ that would've been for the best?" Cullen chided. "Tell me: what happens when a child first learns to walk?"

She frowned. "They... fall, I suppose?"

"And if a parent carries them everywhere, out of a desire to protect them from harm?"

Raven rolled her eyes with a grimace. "Okay, I get it; you're saying I should let people be hurt, to help them grow stronger. But that isn't—I can't just—"

"No," Cullen said with a laugh. "I know better than to expect you to sit idle. But there will _always_ be pain in the world, no matter what you do. So when people inevitably _are_ hurt, you must not take it to heart as a failure of your own. If you do what you can to prevent harm, and then do what you can to heal what harm yet comes, that is all anyone could ask."

Her short huff of laughter echoed in the stone-walled chamber. "I feel like everyone keeps telling me that."

"That is because they do. Perhaps if you actually listen, they'll stop." With a smile, Cullen faded, and Raven found herself surrounded again by her friends, every one of them looking as if they'd been hit upside the head with a board.

"Well," Brother Genetivi said, "that was interesting."

They passed through the second and third trials easily enough, but when they filed into the final room, they discovered a dusty stone altar sitting alone before a roaring wall of flame. While the others exclaimed in awe about the Urn of Sacred Ashes clearly visible on the other side, Raven blushed hotly. She'd been so lost in thought, she'd forgotten about the last hurdle.

"Let me guess," Rob said, at her elbow, "this is the 'leap from the lion's head' portion of the film."

"Uh... sort of."

Wynne, Aedan, and Genetivi had all crowded around the altar to read the inscription carved into it. "'Cast off the trappings of worldly life and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit. King and slave, lord and beggar; be born anew in the Maker's sight,'" Aedan recited. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Who knows?" said Zevran. "It is rather late for us to be born, is it not? And I fear I have left my 'Goodness of Spirit' cloak at home."

The Chantry scholar cleared his throat, a hint of color creeping up his face. "Remember what I said before, about hyperbole and metaphor?" Aedan nodded. "Yes, well I... I believe the 'trappings of worldly life' here are our, ah, clothing."

"It does sound like that," Wynne said with resignation. Aedan looked to Raven, and she gave a small nod.

"Well I'll be a nug's uncle! That's the first good thing that's _happened_ in this miserable place!" Oghren crowed. "If this Andraste of yours is in favor of folks walking around in the buff, I may change my mind about your crazy surfacer religion yet!"

"I will not walk through fire to retrieve a pot of holy dirt," Sten said flatly.

After much discussion, it was decided—though not without objection—that those who wished to approach the ashes would disrobe and cross the flames together, while the others waited in the previous chamber.

The more Andrastian members of the group—Genetivi, Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair—had immediately agreed to proceed, and Aedan felt it was his responsibility to join them. After a bit of waffling, Raven decided her curiosity outweighed her embarrassment.

Oghren hesitated, until Morrigan noted tartly that leering at one's fellow pilgrims was likely not the 'goodness of spirit' the trial required. They both left, and Sten followed with a disgusted snort. Zevran threw them a lewd wink on his way out, and Rob brought up the rear, promising he'd make sure no one peeked.

Once the door closed, the awkward pause was broken by Leliana nonchalantly beginning to remove her armor. When she noticed Raven's hesitance, she gave her an encouraging smile. "We are all perfect in the Maker's sight, my friend. Do not be afraid."

With a decisive nod, Raven began to undress, and the others followed suit. Soon enough, they all stood before the wall of fire, avoiding eye contact and trying not to notice the heat of the flames on their skin.

Aedan took a deep breath. "On three," he said.

"Wait, so is that, one-two-go? Or one-two-three _then_ go?" Alistair asked nervously, as Raven clutched his hand for support. Aedan just shook his head and counted, and the group stepped into the fire.

The sensation was bizarre. The fire was definitely real; she felt it licking hotly against her skin. And yet, a sense of calm washed over her, and she knew without a doubt she would be safe. She emerged beside the others, all wearing identical expressions of awe, and found her embarrassment had melted away. "And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed," she quoted softly in wonder.

"What?" Alistair asked.

"Oh! Nothing," she said, realizing she'd spoken aloud. "Just thinking of something I read." Odd to think she was in a holy place with others of faith, and yet none of them would recognize the Bible verses she'd heard all her life. But in that moment, it didn't matter.

The ethereal voice of the Guardian called out behind them. "You have been through the trials of the Gauntlet," he said. "You have walked the path of Andraste, and like Her, you have been cleansed. You have proven yourself worthy, pilgrims." And, instructing them to take a pinch of the ashes, he disappeared in a brilliant flash of light.

Slowly, they climbed the stone staircase up to the statue of Andraste, bathed in golden rays from windows high above. The sense of holiness was a near-physical presence. Alistair spoke in a hush. "I didn't think anyone could succeed in finding Andraste's final resting place... but here... here She is."

Leliana nodded. "I never dreamed I would ever lay my eyes on the Urn of Sacred Ashes... I... I have no words to express..." She trailed off, overcome.

"I could not have asked for a greater honor than to be here," said Wynne. "I will never forget this feeling."

Brother Genetivi simply stared raptly at the scene, no doubt trying to memorize every detail of the moment.

Squaring his shoulders, Aedan extended a trembling hand to open the shining golden Urn. As his fingers touched the ashes, he gasped. "I can't describe it," he said, placing a pinch into a small leather pouch, "but I know this will cure the Arl."

"Yes," Raven said. "It will."

________________________________________

_ Friday, 30 Harvestmere, 9:30 Dragon _

"So tell me, where are you _really_ from?"

Brother Genetivi's question took Raven completely by surprise, and she stared at him, mouth agape. The two of them sat amid the scattered tomes of the temple's library, sorting and cataloguing, but he'd paused to watch her closely. His lips quirked upward as he waited patiently for her reply. She'd spent a fair bit of time with the scholar since they finished the Gauntlet, asking him about everything under the sun. Now it seemed he'd decided to get her story in return.

"Wh—what do you mean?" she dissembled.

Genetivi raised an eyebrow. "Come now, dear girl. You've been bombarding me with questions for the last four days about all the places I've traveled; you know I've been to the Free Marches many times. And if you are from Markham, I'll eat this book."

She couldn't help but give him a rebellious glare. "Fiber is good for the digestion, I hear."

He laughed. "No doubt, but I don't think—let's see, what do we have here? 'Dracones: Pulchra Mortem'—sounds very tasty. I'd rather chew on why the Guardian called you 'the woman out of place.'"

Raven sighed. "Fine, but you won't believe me."

"After all I've seen, you'd be surprised at what I'm willing to believe."

So, after closing the door to prevent eavesdroppers, she began her tale. By the time she'd finished, the scholar's eyebrows had risen to where his hair would've been, if he'd had any. "Marvelous!" he breathed. "And you say that in this other world, Thedas only exists as stories told within this strange sort of game you have played?"

"Not just any stories, either. A lot of events are covered, but one of the major tales specifically talks about what is happening now, with the Blight, the Wardens, all of it. Right down to finding you tied up in the Haven Chantry."

"Me?" he gaped. "I'm in the story?"

"Oh yes," she said, taking a tiny bit of malicious enjoyment in his shock, after the way he'd weaseled the truth out of her. "You're sort of a major figure, really. Most of the history and lore I know is excerpted from your various books."

He blinked. "To think, my books are known in another dimension! I can't help but feel my publisher has underpaid me."

"Possibly, but you might have a difficult time explaining to them why that is," she laughed.

"True. But I think I understand, now, what the Guardian said to you."

Raven sobered, her eyes downcast. "Yeah."

"You knew that Lothering would be destroyed, then?"

"That's just it," she exploded with frustration. "There are so many things I _don't_ know, and even more I know will happen at _some_ point but not _when_. Like, we're going to Honnleath soon. By the time we get there, the town will be under attack, and a few of the residents will be hiding in a warded cellar. But I don't know if that attack will start right before we arrive... or if it won't start _until_ we arrive... or if it started _weeks_ ago, and those villagers were just lucky enough to have food and water stored away. So how can I send a warning?" She twisted her braid in irritation. "Or even worse, how about this one: soon, our armies will gather at Redcliffe to battle the darkspawn. But the darkspawn are really headed for Denerim. All our soldiers will have to make a forced march to the capital, and the city will be under siege until we reach it. So, logically, I should tell Aedan to assemble the troops in Denerim instead, right? But what if that makes the darkspawn go somewhere else? I wouldn't have any way of knowing where, and we'd be worse off than before! I just... don't have the answers!"

Genetivi's curious eyes were shaded with sympathy as she sighed. "In my Gauntlet vision, a... friend, I guess... told me I just need to do my best, and accept that some bad things can't be prevented. And I get that, but... in Lothering, I felt like each corpse was accusing me, yelling, "Why didn't you save me?" Roughly, she brushed away nascent tears. "By the time the army reaches Denerim, the death toll will be huge. How can I look at that and not lose my mind?" Her gaze searched the Chantry brother's face. "I don't want to be the Maker; I don't want to make these decisions. But I don't have any other choice."

"I'm sorry, my child; that is truly a terrible dilemma. More so because you don't really struggle with the answers—you have a good sense of what you need to do, I think—but what troubles you is dealing with the aftermath." He paused in thought. "I have an idea. Come with me." And he rose and headed for the door.

Soon enough, Raven realized they were heading out of the temple proper, up a side path that was blocked off when they first came through. "Are we going back to the Gauntlet?" she asked.

"Yes; I wanted to check on this anyway, and now is as good a time as any." They made their way to the entrance, and stepping onto the sacred ground soothed her spirit. The Guardian was absent, but the door into the next chamber was open, so she followed the scholar onward.

When they reached the riddle room, Genetivi glanced around pensively. The spots where the spirits had been looked empty, but he approached the place where Maferath, the jealous husband of the prophet, had stood. "Spirit," he called, "are you here?"

For a long moment, nothing happened, and Raven started to think the brother's hope for another chance to converse with the legends of history was a vain one. But slowly, light began to coalesce before them, and the outline of Maferath emerged. "Worthy ones," he said. "You have returned."

"Yes," Genetivi replied. "We hoped to speak with you. My companion wrestles with a problem you may be able to advise her on."

"You seek _my_ advice?" the spirit asked, surprise in his echoing voice. "The one they call the Betrayer is rarely chosen as a font of wise council."

Genetivi chuckled. "That is doubtless true. However, I take a rather longer view of things than many of my fellows. Humor me, if you would, my lord?"

"Certainly. What is it you wish to learn?"

"I have two questions. First, could you tell us what led to your decision to betray Andraste?"

Maferath sighed. "The hardest question of all, and you place it first. Very well. The heart of my decision was jealousy, as all know. It began as the tiniest worm—drilling into my thoughts when she spoke of being the Maker's bride rather than mine—and grew until it was all I could see. But that was not the only reason."

"Oh?"

"I thought myself far above such pettiness, so I cannot honestly say how many of my decisions were poisoned with spite. But I also believed Andraste was leading us into a military situation we could not win. I told her this, but she would not relent. She claimed I was lacking in faith, that the Maker would not let her down… as _I_ was doing, she implied. The armies loved her; I knew they would never follow me if I acted against her wishes. I feared she would drive us against the walls of Tevinter over and over until nothing was left; I am still not certain I was wrong on that score. Of course, we never found out, because it was then that my anger and bitterness overwhelmed me. I convinced myself Andraste was no longer in her right mind, and the only way to save thousands of souls who marched with us was to betray my beloved. And thus I did."

Raven pondered. "So, in an attempt to save as many people as you could, you made a mistake."

The spirit gave a huff of not-laughter. "A mistake, as if I had miscounted baskets of grain. I made what many consider one of the worst choices in the history of Thedas, girl. It was a bit more than a _mistake_."

Genetivi nodded. "So, my second question: What happened after?"

Maferath paused thoughtfully. "You do not seek a mundane account of my return to southern lands, I trust. Perhaps you wish to know the thoughts that haunted me." The spirit wavered, a sign Raven was coming to recognize as a signal of emotional distress, but he continued. "At the moment of Andraste's death, I was stricken with remorse. I truly had loved her, and I knew then I let my jealousy drive me down the darkest path. But it was too late."

"I did all in my power to spread her teachings, and bring peace and prosperity to those she freed. I gave the noble elf Shartan a homeland for his people. But it was not _enough_. It could never _be_ enough. "

Raven gasped, as the general's words echoed her own turmoil, and she nodded. "What did you do?"

"Tried harder and loathed myself, for the most part; the evil I had wrought could never be undone. But then one night, Andraste came to me in a vision. I feared she had come to lay her righteous vengeance upon me, but instead, she laid her hand on my heart. I wept and begged her forgiveness, though I knew I did not deserve it. But she smiled. 'Despair not,' she said, 'for your betrayal was Maker-blessed and returned me to His side.' And she forgave me."

"For a long, long time I pondered what that meant, even after Archon Hessarian revealed what I had done and all men turned from me. At last, I determined thus: in a flawed world, good and evil will always come to pass despite our best efforts. So when evil comes, rather than bemoaning our lot, we must trust in the Maker to weave our failures into His design."

"Would Andraste's light have spread as it did, if she had lived? If we had crashed against the gates of Tevinter, and lost our war... would her name be naught but a footnote in history now? We cannot know. We can only know what _did_ happen. And because of that, I believe Andraste meant that the Maker took my weakness and found a way to turn it to strength."

"You may say I delude myself, to escape remorse for my actions. But chaining myself to my betrayal was akin to dying, and choosing to die in my darkest moment would only guarantee I could build no better ones. I do not believe Andraste's beloved Maker wishes such futile misery on his children. So, I accepted the forgiveness I did not deserve, and I am content."

They thanked the spirit and walked back to the library. "Do you feel any easier in your heart now, my dear?"

"I... I guess so. Though all things considered, I hope I don't end up with a reputation as bad as Maferath's."

Genetivi laughed. "I believe you are safe on that score."

________________________________________

_ Saturday, 1 Firstfall, 9:30 Dragon _

The morning of Satinalia dawned clear and cold over Haven and its temporary residents. They'd opted for a few days of much-needed rest before setting out for Redcliffe, and for once, they had no shortage of provisions. So later, they'd have a feast… but first, gifts.

Raven had been thinking about Satinalia for a while. As much as she'd come to care for her friends here, a sense of melancholy hit her whenever she thought about spending the holiday without her family and their familiar traditions. She had, at least, dragged Rob along for pseudo-Christmas shopping before they left Orzammar. She'd even helped him find a beautiful golden mirror as a present for Morrigan. "Trust me," she'd assured him, "she'll love it."

But though she missed the decorations and carols—hard to find a Christmas song without Jesus or Santa in it, after all—she _was_ looking forward to giving her gift to Alistair on Satinalia morning.

Gazing at the sleeping man at her side, Rae felt the now-familiar mental whiplash over how vastly her life had changed. It seemed impossible that only seven months ago, she'd been arguing with Rob about how many electronics she could bring on their camping trip. Now she lay in a medieval hut beside her fondest daydream... after fighting unspeakable horrors deep beneath the ground and walking through a wall of fire. Mirrors reflected a strong, competent fighter rather than the anxious nerd she knew herself to be, but she couldn't deny this world had changed her.

Though she still missed indoor plumbing.

She and her mismatched companions had been to every corner of Ferelden, gathering forces for the war ahead, and she knew the road would only get rougher from here on out. So many pivotal moments loomed before them, and Raven honestly couldn't say whether she was more afraid for the things within her control, or those beyond it. But after talking with Maferath, she'd finally made at least a little peace with her burden. And of course, Alistair's love was worth so much more than any nebulous fears.

Though their relationship was still in the starry-eyed phase, it was far from perfect. When stressed, Rae wanted to read alone in silence, and Alistair wanted to glue himself to her elbow and talk nonstop. They were both utterly terrible with emotions; their shared habit was to downplay their own pain and cover with a joke, which led to a lot of "Well why didn't you _say_ so?" moments. Their idealized views of each other were slowly converting to reality, but it would take time. And of course, she feared for his future.

But she knew, clear to the bedrock of her soul, that Alistair loved her with everything he was. Silently, she vowed she would _not_ let them be torn apart, no matter what it took. And with that, in the bright dawn with her beloved by her side, she was content.

And awake... which meant it was time for presents.

"Wake up!" she chirped, laughing when he pulled the pillow over his head. "None of that, you! It's Satinalia! Don't you want to open your presents?"

He peeked out at her with one eye. "To be honest, I never got the habit of expecting any. I didn't get them as a child, and at the monastery they mainly just droned on about how Satinalia was no excuse for wild and improper behavior. Sort of took the fun out of it. Though I did enjoy the feasts."

"Well, you're getting presents now, so get up, get up, get up!" she urged, with childlike excitement. 

He pulled her close, lips pressed to her forehead. "I have everything I need."

"You and your smooth talking," she said with a smile. "If this is your way of getting out of giving me a gift, it won't work. Or more accurately, it will work, but Leliana will yell at you when she finds out."

"Curses, my clever plan is foiled!" he exclaimed. "Now I'll have to see if Bodahn has any last minute gifts on hand... preferably something not taken off a corpse in the Deep Roads."

"That would be best," she laughed. "But first, you have to open mine." She'd always loved giving presents. Getting stuff was nice, but few things compared to seeing someone's eyes light up over the perfect gift. And she'd been anticipating this one for a long time.

"All right," he chuckled, sitting up against the headboard. "I surrender. Shower me with gifts; I shall no longer resist." She pressed the brightly wrapped package into his hands, watching him expectantly as he opened it, and was not disappointed when his jaw dropped. "Is this...? I can't... how did you _find_ this?"

When Alistair was young, the only memento he was given as a token of his mother was a silver amulet with Andraste's Flame on the back. He'd treasured it, but in an argument with Arl Eamon before he was sent away, he'd thrown it at the wall and shattered it. What he hadn't known is that Eamon had carefully glued it back together. Raven had found it in the arl's study at Redcliffe Castle, right where she knew it would be, and had carried it since, waiting for the perfect moment.

"It was in Eamon's study. He fixed it, but I guess he never got around to giving it to you. I thought you should have it."

"Love, this is... I don't even know what to say. Thank you. I mean it. I... thought I'd lost this to my own stupidity. You've given me something irreplaceable." He stared at the amulet with shining eyes before turning back to her.

He gave her a certain look sometimes that warmed her to her toes at the same time it made her blush and duck her head. It was long and intense, and it said he saw someone he found beautiful, beloved, precious. It was the look he wore then, as he added, "Of course, nothing else could match what you've already given me... the kind of love I never dared hope for."

She slid onto his lap, melting against his chest with a sigh. "Alistair?"

"Ye-e-esss?"

"How could you ever think you were awkward? You say so many perfect things I can hardly take it."

"Is that so? We-e-ell, Maker forbid I should cause my lady distress..." He smirked, his eyes filling with familiar mischief. "Let's see; how about this?" He screwed his features into a ridiculous leer. "Listen here, wench," he said in a rough growl, "in my bed, I'm in charge, and I'll grab your luscious arse if I please! And as for your—" He stalled out while attempting to ogle her chest, dissolving into laughter. "I can't do it! I tried to imagine what Oghren would say, but it's no use. I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I'm afraid you'll just have to learn to live with my irresistible charm."

"Alas, however shall I go on?" Her giggle turned into a squeak when he dumped her unceremoniously on the bed, padding naked across the room to his belongings. "You're lucky I'm too distracted by your glorious ass to complain about getting tossed around like a sack of potatoes, ser."

"All a part of my master plan." He dug in his pack for a moment, before uttering a triumphant "Aha!" When he turned, he had a small parcel and a half-anxious, half-eager expression. "I may have been fibbing when I said I hadn't thought about Satinalia."

Alistair climbed back under the blanket and snuggled close, handing her the gift. Eyes alight with curiosity, she untied the ribbon, and her mouth opened in a soundless O of delight.

The small box was made of silver, and the intricate metalwork gave away its dwarven origin. The top was inlaid with obsidian, and affixed to the center was a delicate wooden emblem in a familiar design...

"A griffon! It's beautiful! But I didn't think Orzammar dwarves crafted with wood! "

He gave her a bashful smile. "They don't. I... well, when I was younger, I had a hard time being still for lessons. One of the Chantry sisters got tired of me fidgeting and dropping things, so she handed me a bit of wood and a knife and told me to carve the Sword of Mercy." He snorted. "Probably hoped I'd take my hand off and be out of her hair, the cranky old bat. She was not impressed that I made a duck. But I did it quietly, so she let me keep it up." He shrugged. "It's something I can do anywhere with whatever's on hand, and it's something nice and simple, when nothing else is. So... I made the griffon for you, and then in Orzammar I found the box and had them attach it. Go on, open it!"

Raven lifted the hinged lid, and gasped. The inside was lined with dark velvet, and had straps securing its contents: an inkwell with a clasping stopper, and two exquisite obsidian pens. Blinking rapidly didn't help; wayward emotion escaped her eyes.

"I know you hate quills; anytime you have to sharpen them or cut new ones, you say how much you miss real pens from your world. The merchant said these will never dull, so I thought..."

She clutched the box to her chest. "Alistair, it's perfect. The pens are perfect, the fact that you knew I'd want them is perfect, and the beautiful griffon you made with your own hands is so far beyond perfect I can't even describe it. I love it."

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, snuggling her close with a sigh of contentment. "I'm so glad you like it. All this time we've spent together... you know; the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us... none of it's been easy, least of all for you." She opened her mouth to protest, but he stopped her with a smile, and quipped, "You know I'm right, and that happens so rarely that you should let me enjoy it." She shook her head, chuckling, and he continued. "My point is, no matter how crazy things get, I will do whatever I can to make you happy, because you are more important to me than I can say. I love you."

"I love you too," she said, and tilted her face up for a slow, sweet kiss. "Happy Satinalia, Alistair."

"For the first time in my life, it is, love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm ALIVE!! Sincere apologies for the delay, especially to all the lovely folks who've commented and have received no replies because I've been off the map. (I'll get there soon, I promise!) The holidays were... challenging, and then I got overwhelmed by other projects... and overwhelmed by being overwhelmed, lol. But we are getting closer to the end, and I hope to get the next several chapters out much more quickly. Thank you all for the kudos and comments; they truly do mean a lot. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for checking out my work! I've written other types of fiction before, but this is my first entry into the Dragon Age fanfic world. I did another playthrough recently, and realized I loved Dragon Age (...and Alistair...and Cullen...*coughblush*) too much to just end there. Looking forward to hearing what everyone thinks; it turns out I'm shamelessly motivated by kudos, bookmarks, and comments. :D


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